Invictus
by Ayezur
Summary: AU. In the eleventh year of the Meiji, 1878, Japan still practices chattel slavery. The Tokugawa shogunate still reigns from Edo castle, backed by the infamous Kanryu family and their merchant empire. And Kaoru Kamiya finds an abandoned slave hiding under the docks as she's walking home...
1. prologue: under a murdering moon

**A/n: Greetings. ****This is all Alina's fault. The only thing I'm guilty of is being extremely susceptible to flattery. She's the one who thought this was a good idea; blame her, not me. **

**Of course, this didn't have to start turning into an actual story, with plot. It could have stayed a happy little plotless drawerfic, written for my id and no one else. But apparently I'm bad at doing that. So I guess you can blame me.**

**But blame her, too, because she didn't talk me out of it.**

**Brief historical note: "Meiji" refers to the emperor currently reigning. Even though the Bakumatsu never happened, Komei still died when he died, since he died of old age and not a sudden attack of revolutionaries. So it can be the Meiji, but still have a shogunate. ~The more you know~**

**Warnings: This is set in an AU where chattel slavery exists. If that's going to be upsetting to you, please don't read it. There will be mentions of sexual slavery, and of slaves being used sexually because that's kind of unavoidable in a setting like this, but there will be no graphic depictions of non consensual sex, nor is that particular form of slavery the focus of the story. So don't worry on that account.**

**Well. Here we go.**

* * *

They were hunting her.

They wouldn't find her. Not before she could escape. The false trail was too well laid, it _had_ to be, she refused to even consider another outcome. So she ignored the shouts, and the dogs, and the torches flickering as Kanryu's men spread throughout the estate, because _she had time and she would escape._

The loose stone was still there, looser now that she'd spent so many weeks picking at it, stealing moments from her carefully-watched schedule. She pulled at it, breaking her manicured nails – _yes_, she thought, exulting, _tear it all away, let me begin clean, let me be shed of him_ – muscles straining in protest until it finally moved from its moorings and left a space just large enough to crawl through.

Sagara was on the other side, waiting at the foot of the steep, stone-covered hill. She had to believe that. She had gambled everything on his word.

"But even if I die…" she whispered.

A stick snapped behind her. She whirled.

"_No…_"

She nearly sobbed.

The manslayer stood at her back, sword unsheathed and gleaming in the moonlight. She fell backwards, groping towards her tunnel, knowing that there was no way on earth she could outrun him. Her heart pounded rabbit-fast in her chest; her fingers went numb and thick with fear.

"Please." Her voice cracked. "Don't."

He advanced on her, blank-eyed, and raised his sword.

"I'm not an intruder!" she cried desperately. "You don't have any _orders!_ I know you don't!"

His arm froze at the top of the arc, trembling. His eyes – those terrible blank eyes – but they weren't always blank. She _knew_ they weren't. She had _seen_ – had believed – had hoped beyond reason that there was still a man in there, somewhere. That Kanryu was not the god he dreamed he was.

She'd never expected to have to hang her life on it.

"Please…" she breathed, and used the one weapon she had left. "_Kenshin._"

Then she squeezed her eyes shut. It would be quick, at least, when it came. She knew that. She had seen the bodies of the men he killed seen in their faces that none of them had noticed their own deaths coming.

One heartbeat. Two. Three. And she wasn't dead yet. She looked up at him, tongue thick in her dry mouth.

His eyes weren't blank anymore.

He sheathed his sword. She scrambled backwards, clutching her small bag of belongings.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you." Ah god, if there was any mercy Kanryu would never know and he would be safe…

But that she knew that for a fool's hope, because there was no mercy in this world. She didn't even have ignorance to comfort her.

She left anyway.

The manslayer watched her go.


	2. say my name

Kaoru stretched and cracked her neck as she walked along the riverbank, singing tunelessly to herself. The snap-chill of winter was giving way to spring; she was pleasantly sore from a productive workout at the Maekawa's; and soon Sanosuke would be coming back from his latest trip with souvenirs and, more importantly, news. So why shouldn't she sing as she walked along, and swing her purse idly in time?

_Well_, she could imagine Yahiko saying, _because you sing like a dying cat, for starters_.

"Hmph!" she said, and stuck her nose up at no one in particular. "As if there's anyone to hear."

She'd set him to doing the laundry before she left. If she'd been lucky, it would be at least partially done. Badly, but – well, he was only ten. And he'd been through a lot before Sano had dumped him on her doorstep. Allowances could be made.

Not that she'd ever _tell_ him that, of course.

She was already planning his extra exercises when a low moan caught her ear. She stopped, looking around, and had almost dismissed it as the wind or a creaky door when it happened again and yes, that was absolutely an animal of some kind. A dog or a cat, probably; Edo was full of strays.

She stood very still. The animal moaned again, low and in pain, and she traced the sound to under a nearby dock. The ground was muddy with melted frost and she stepped as carefully as she could, but she knew it was getting all over her socks and the hem of her clothes. She could feel it, slimy and cold and squishy between her toes and _eugh_.

"Alright," she muttered, crouching to peer under the dock. "You'd better not savage me, after I go out of my way to help you…"

For a few moments, all she saw was mud. Then some of it moved, heaving like a bellows, and as her eyes adjusted she realized that it wasn't an animal at all. There was a _person_ under there, curled in on themselves and covered in mud, shivering violently.

_Oh my god._

"Hello?" she called out. "Are you okay?"

Their only response was to curl up tighter, shrinking against the stone wall. Kaoru bid a silent, wistful farewell to her second-best pants and crawled under the dock.

"My name is Kaoru," she said, kneeling and feeling the mud soak rapidly through the thick cotton of her clothes. "Kaoru Kamiya. Can I help you?"

She reached out to the person. They – she _wanted_ to say it was a man but between the mud and the darkness under the docks it was impossible to tell – fell back, whimpering, and as they did so a hank of filthy hair fell away from their face and she saw the slave-brand carved into their cheek.

"Oh…" she said, sitting back on her heels. She swallowed, hard. "Did you escape?"

No response.

"Were you abandoned?"

No response.

"What _happened_ to you?"

And still no response.

"Will you at least tell me your name?"

That got a response: a flinch and a shudder. Their arms came up reflexively to shield their head and Kaoru's blood ran cold at the instinctive, _protective_ response. She suddenly found it very hard to breathe.

"Please…" Her words were barely audible as her voice faltered and she swallowed again, trying to remember everything Sano had told her all at once and suddenly unable to sort one memory from another.

"Come with me," she said a little more firmly. "You can't stay here. You'll be found. You have to come with me, now."

_Like little kids_, Sano had said. _You gotta hold their hand every step of the way, some of 'em. Too far gone t' do even the stuff they know they gotta do if there isn't someone there t'tell 'em t'do it._

She straightened her shoulders and used her best assistant-master-of-the-kamiya-kasshin-style voice.

"Come on. Let's go."

The person looked up, sluggishly, as though their head was weighted down with lead. She nodded sharply, holding out her hand.

"You can't stay here forever. It's time to leave."

They fell forward onto their hands and knees, achingly slowly, and began to crawl out from under the dock. Kaoru followed close behind, heart hammering in her chest. They moved so carefully, as though every motion caused them pain, and she had to bite back the urge to tell them to stop, wait here, she'd get help. Because it was the luck of the gods that they hadn't been found by the patrols already, and if she wasted any time…

The two of them made it out from under the docks, and then the mud-caked person collapsed. They tried to get up again, but their arms couldn't support their weight and they fell again. And tried again. And fell –

Kaoru was immediately at their side, wrapping her arm around their shoulders.

"Don't," she said. "Let me help you."

The man – she could see him better now, in the afternoon light – was shaking. His eyes were wide and shocky and his face, under the mud, was too pale to be healthy. But he seemed strong – lean muscle – so it was probably exhaustion and whatever wounds were hiding under that filth, not malnutrition or poor health. He accepted the new position but refused to lean on her, only using her to brace himself as he stood.

_Okay, Kaoru. Think. Home or Megumi? Megumi knows more, but home is closer…_

She glanced at him again, saw his eyes beginning to glaze over, and chose home. She could send Yahiko out for Megumi; she'd come quickly, once she heard.

"Okay," she said, more for her sake than his. "Here we go. One foot in front of the other."

* * *

By the time they made it home she was practically carrying him. She stumbled up the stairs to the main gate and pounded on it.

"Yahiko!"

"What, ugly?" she heard him say. The gates opened. "Did you lose another – what the – ?"

"Help me get him into the bathhouse. Then get the first aid kit. Then I need you to _run_ and get Megumi, understand?"

"What? I don't get it…"

She tilted the man's head and showed him the scar, and his objections died. He nodded grimly and helped her carry the man to the bathhouse. They lay him out in the dressing room and Kaoru began to strip him while Yahiko ran for the medicine box.

"Sorry," she muttered, knowing that he probably couldn't hear her in the state he was in. "Sorry, sorry."

His filthy, sopping wet clothing was thrown into a corner to be summarily executed at a later date. She filled a bucket with lukewarm water from the tub and began carefully pouring water over him, trying to wash away as much of the mud as she could without having to scrub. He'd been beaten, more than once. Old and new bruises overlaid each other in a brutal collage, and there wasn't an inch of his body not intersected by at least one ropey, ill-healed scar. She bit her lip hard to stay focused on the task at hand instead of her growing rage and tasted blood, salty on her tongue.

He'd taken several gashes to the chest. Not sword-wounds – daggers, maybe. His shoulder had been pierced, and his ankle was sprained at the very least, possibly broken. And there were these odds, circular wounds interspersed with the ones she recognized…

Yahiko returned with the medicine kit.

"Help me sit him up," she ordered

Yahiko complied, then raced off to get Megumi. The man slouched forward, his forearms resting on the floor. Her jaw tensed as she poured water down his back, revealing old whip-marks and a few dozen new ones. As she'd thought.

"I'm so sorry…" she whispered, cleaning his back as gently as she could before laying him back down on a clean towel to protect his open wounds from the floor. She couldn't tell if he was unconscious or just beyond caring. He wasn't objecting to anything they were doing, but… Tears prickled in the corner of her eyes and she dashed them furiously away. Later. Later, when Sano was back, she'd cry and scream and rage. Right now, this man needed her help.

She bent over his unresisting body and began to clean his wounds.

Kaoru worked as gently as she could, knowing that the mud had to be gotten out before infection set in. He was a slender man, fine-boned, with long red hair and – god, he was _beautiful_. She felt awful for noticing, but it was impossible not to given the situation. He was muscular and compact, powerful, yet there was grace in the lines of his bones. She couldn't stop herself from wondering what it would look like when he moved.

The brand on his cheek was old and raised. He must have been enslaved for most of his life. She swallowed and forced herself to breathe evenly, and then she heard Megumi's footsteps clattering along the porch.

"I'm here, Kaoru, where is he – " Megumi burst through the door and skidded to a stop. "…oh my god."

Kaoru looked up. The color was draining from Megumi's face as she clutched at her collar, looking as though she'd seen her own death.

"Megumi?"

"He – he's one of Kanryu's," she said, eyes wide and chest heaving and if it wasn't for the fact that Kaoru _knew_ Megumi was totally fearless, she'd have thought the doctor was scared almost witless. "The manslayer – Kaoru, do you have any _idea_ – ?"

"No," Kaoru snapped. "Because you and Sano never _tell_ me anything!"

Life and color slowly returned to Megumi's face. She took a steadying breath.

"That man is – one of Kanryu's particular… projects. A – a kind of guard dog, you could say. Kanryu called him the manslayer."

"Called him? …doesn't he have a name?"

"Yes," Megumi said bleakly, her eyes very old. "But by the time I arrived, there was only one person besides Kanryu who still remembered it…"

She closed her eyes briefly. Then she knelt and opened her medicine kit.

"That's a part of the process, you understand," she said, and was suddenly Megumi again – brisk and competent and utterly unflappable. "Deny the name, reduce the person to a task, a tool. I saw it happen a hundred times…"

"He never did it to you?"

"I was… different," she said quietly.

Kaoru had the sense of walking suddenly onto very thin ice: the realization that there was only the barest sheen of strength between her and a long, cold darkness.

"That process is only for…" Megumi licked her lips. "…it doesn't matter. That process was what was what made Kanryu famous, finding a way to kill the person but leave the functioning body behind. The manslayer was the first to survive the process..."

Kaoru's hands curled in the mud-stained fabric of her clothes. She shuddered. Her stomach knotted and she fought the bile rising in her throat to keep her voice steady.

"Did you… know his name?"

Megumi looked up, surprise evident in her china-doll features. Kaoru met her gaze head-on.

"Can you tell me his name?"

She had a sudden feeling that Megumi was looking at her for the very first time. At _her_ – not Sano's "little lady," not the brat's teacher, not the woman who runs the sword school that Sano uses as a safehouse. At Kaoru Kamiya – looking at her, and _seeing_ her.

Then Megumi turned back to her work.

"His name," she said quietly, eyes fixed on her hands and his wounds, "is Kenshin. No one knew his family name."

_Kenshin…_

She looked down at him. His eyes had opened, but he wasn't looking at anything, just staring straight ahead with no life in his eyes at all, no change in his expression even as Megumi poked and prodded and lifted and stitched skin together. It made something ache hollowly in her chest.

It wasn't _right_.

"Hey," she said, leaning over him. "Your name is Kenshin, right?"

He responded with a shudder and a drawn expression that vanished as soon as it appeared.

"It _is_ Kenshin, isn't it?" she asked again. He closed his eyes as if in pain.

"Stop it, Kaoru," Megumi said shortly. "He can't – he's not allowed to respond."

And suddenly that was too much, too horrible; that someone, anyone, could reduce another person like this, for any reason – take even their _name_ – the control that had been fraying since she'd seen the brand on his cheek finally gave way and she pounded her fist against the floor.

"_No!_" Kaoru shouted, fury snapping in her eyes. "Kanryu isn't here! This is _my _home, not that _slimebag's_ – he doesn't have to – I won't _have_ it, d'you hear?"

Kenshin flinched. Kaoru rounded on him, wanting to grab him and shake some sense into him but he was wounded and scared and she stopped herself midway, ending up hovering over him with her hands the floor on either side of his _(gorgeous) _face.

"You listen up!" she said. "In _this_ house, people have _names_ and _your_ name is Kenshin! _Kenshin_, do you understand?"

"Kaoru, what are you _doing?_"

Megumi was shouting at her, somewhere far away, but her eyes were riveted on his and his on hers. He had the most extraordinary eyes, a shifting pale purple like lilac petals in a stream, and he was looking up at her with those incredible eyes like a man who'd given up entirely and it wasn't _fair _and she was _not having with this!_

She slammed her hand against the floor again.

"So when I call your _name_, you had better respond! Understand, _Kenshin?_"

He'd shrunk back against the floor during her tirade, tensing like an animal that knew better than to try and run. Now he relaxed, suddenly, and there was a… shift… in his eyes. A surrendering. She pulled back, uncertain. His eyes stayed fixed on her.

"Yes, mistress," he said, and passed out.

* * *

Megumi grabbed her arm and hauled her away from Kenshin, dragging her bodily from the bathhouse. Kaoru, shocked, didn't resist.

"You little _idiot!_" Megumi nearly screamed, shoving her so that she almostfell off the porch. "Do you have any idea what you've _done?_"

Kaoru caught herself on a pillar and planted her feet firmly on the floor. "I didn't mean to _do_ anything!"

"Well, you did!" Megumi shot back. "You thoughtless _fool!_ Stay there! Don't move, don't speak, don't even _breathe_ if you can help it!"

With that, she stormed back inside and slammed the door behind her. Kaoru stared after her.

Then she sat down, heavily.

Yahiko crept out from around the corner.

"Ugly… what did you _do?_"

"I… I'm not sure," she said absently, remembering. His eyes had been… Her breath caught.

"I haven't seen Megumi this pissed since Sano forgot he wasn't supposed to be using his right hand…" Yahiko continued. "Did you cop a feel or something?"

"_Yahiko!_" She slapped the back of his head automatically. "Where do you get those thoughts from? Go practice and stay out of the way – five hundred repetitions, and keep your sword-tip up this time!"

"Fine, fine," he muttered, slouching away with his thumbs tucked in his belt. She shook her head, watching him go.

After a few more minutes, Megumi came out, wiping her hands. Her mouth was drawn in a thin, angry line, lips pressed flat.

"He's stable, for now. And you and I are going to have a talk, Kamiya."

"Fine," she said, standing. "Let's use the kitchen."

Megumi began making tea as soon as they went inside, anger snapping along the instinctively graceful curves of her movements. They sat in silence as it brewed; Kaoru didn't know what to say, and Megumi wasn't going to speak until she was ready.

Finally, the tea was ready to drink. Kaoru poured. Megumi took a sip and sighed.

"How much do you know about Kanryu?"

Her voice was calm again.

"Not much," Kaoru let her tea sit. It was still too hot for her, and she wasn't thirsty anyway. "He's – he's the head of the slave trade in Japan. Sano says he's the reason it's persisted. That if he was taken out, the trade would evaporate…"

"And how much do you know about the slave trade itself?"

"My family never kept slaves," she said, fiddling with the end of her sleeves. "I – sometimes Sano brings escapees here, when they're on their way out of the country. And there's Yahiko… but he was only on his third strike when Sano picked him up, not branded."

Megumi closed her eyes briefly. "The Kanryu family is the most powerful family in Japan. However, all of their power and wealth and influence is tied to the slave trade. If that trade were to end, they would have nothing. Conversely – if you could destroy that family, it would be much easier to push through the necessary reforms. But at this point, the Kanryu family is so completely entwined with the government that to move against them would probably destroy the existing government as well. Effectively, attacking Kanryu is attacking the government. Do you understand?"

Kaoru covered her mouth, light-headed with shock. "Oh…"

Helping escaped slaves was illegal. She knew that. She'd never cared; there was right and there was wrong and slavery was _wrong_. But this – Sano's group, his "men of high purpose," they didn't only assist slaves in escaping the country. They actively opposed and undermined the Kanryu family. She knew that. Sano talked about it, sometimes, when he'd had too much sake after dinner.

Which meant they were attacking the _government_.

Which meant that they were _traitors_.

"I see that you do," Megumi continued, taking another sip of tea. "I suppose Sagara thought ignorance would protect you. But those are the stakes in this game – they always have been. Nothing less."

Kaoru folded her hands neatly in her lap, pressing them against each other to stop their shaking.

"I – I see."

"Now. As you know, those who are not born into slavery can become slaves either through the Debtor's Law, or by having three strikes on their criminal record. However – although this is technically illegal – some people are born free and made slaves by capture and indoctrination. I – am not sure, but I believe that the manslayer was one such victim."

"Kenshin."

Megumi blinked. Kaoru met her eyes, refusing to look away.

"His name is _Kenshin_."

The doctor stared at her for a heartbeat, than seemed almost to smile.

"Alright. I believe that… _Kenshin_… was born free and made a slave by illegal means. The… what was done to him…" Megumi took a deep breath, and set her tea aside. Her hands were trembling.

"It's an ancient technique, an old secret of the Kanryu family that the current heir – Takeda – revived. He's the youngest son, you see, and originally he would never have inherited. So he went searching for something that would make his name, and he found that… method… buried in the family's records. And he figured out how to use it. That was – after that, it was decided that he was more worthy than his brothers, and they stepped aside."

"Megumi…"

"Don't interrupt me." She took another breath, swallowing it down. "I don't – you don't need to know most of the details. But the first step is to strip the victim of – everything. Even their name. Treat them as you would an animal, and… punish them… should they protest, or try to escape. Eventually, they come to accept that treatment. They believe that they're no better than animals. During the process, the victim is kept heavily drugged, with a secret recipe – a combination of a sedative and a hallucinogen, which helps with the conditioning. Makes them malleable. Given the mansl – given Kenshin's abilities, I don't know how Kanryu managed to keep him prisoner, or keep him alive. A swordsman like that should have at least been able to death-will himself if escape proved impossible, even with the drug affecting his mind…"

Megumi closed her eyes, grief etched in her face.

"Kenshin was the first captive to survive the process. Kanryu's great achievement…" she whispered. "In theory, the process is irreversible."

"In theory…?" Something was trying to get Kaoru's attention through the fog of horror. His eyes, when she'd called his name, when she'd forced it on him…

"…his name," she said, leaning forward. "He still knows his name."

"Yes." Megumi nodded, a flicker of approval in her face. "It could be that Kenshin simply possesses an extraordinary will. It could also be that the process he was subjected to was still unrefined. But it does indicate the possibility that the process is not perfect – that it can be reversed. If that's so…" She lifted her hand as though to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then stopped.

"Megumi…" Kaoru realized, suddenly, how very little she knew about the woman in front of her. She felt dizzy with the weight of it all: and Megumi had carried this, this _knowing_ for how many years? Yet she could be so calm when she spoke of it. She went about her life and her work with Sano without any outward trace of grief or fear or rage, only a single-minded focus.

Megumi seemed to see her thoughts written on her face, and smiled slightly.

"…it doesn't matter. The point is, that man in your bathhouse effectively has no sense of self – whether his personality is truly obliterated or he's simply learned to behave as though it is doesn't matter. He requires a master or a mistress to obey – he must be the possession of another person. He cannot act without orders, even to preserve his own life. And you've managed to convince him that you are his mistress now. That he is your possession."

"No." The world was slipping sideways again, cracking under her. "No, that's – that's impossible. No! I don't accept it!"

She slammed her fist into the mats without realizing; the sting brought her back to herself and she looked at her hand in amazement, watching the blood well up from the scrapes on her knuckles.

"That's can't be true," she whispered through numb lips. "That's… it's evil."

"Yes. But that is the current situation. I know that you didn't understand what you were doing in there – I know that you didn't intend to do what you did. But – this is what we have to work with." Megumi set her cup aside. "You don't have to take on that role, Kaoru. In fact, I would recommend that you don't. We can move him to the clinic while he's still unconscious. We'll take care of him, and you can just… forget this ever happened."

Kaoru brushed at the blood on her hand, smearing it across her knuckles. Wordlessly, Megumi handed her a handkerchief, and she slowly cleaned the scrapes.

"…forget," she murmured.

What Megumi was saying made sense. She wasn't equipped to deal with something like this. It would be much, much better for everyone if she let Megumi and Sano handle things. They knew what Kenshin needed. They knew how to take care of him. She opened her mouth to say _yes_.

And instead she said, "No."

"No?" Megumi narrowed her gaze.

And all she could think of were his eyes: they had been so lost until they'd fixed on her like a compass on the north star.

"No." She gasped in a quick breath. "I – I can't walk away, not now. I can't just – leave this alone. I couldn't sleep at night, knowing what I do now, knowing that I – that I just _left_ someone like that, after _doing_ something like that, even though I didn't mean to. That I'd just said that it wasn't my problem and – and _gone._."

"It's not your problem," Megumi said sharply. "Or your responsibility. Kamiya, I can't let you do this – "

"Why not?" Kaoru drew herself up, overcome with a sudden sense of purpose. "You don't know how to start trying to undo that… process any more than I do, right? And he's – acknowledged me or whatever – right? Wouldn't taking him away now just make things worse?"

"I… I don't think so, not if it was done quickly."

"But you don't _know._"

Megumi's throat worked. Then she shook her head.

"And…" Kaoru swallowed. Her sense of purpose suddenly faltered and her voice grew very small. "I gave him back his name. That… that has to count for something, doesn't it?"

"Kaoru." Megumi leaned forward and touched her fingers to the back of Kaoru's hand. Her skin was cool and dry and Kaoru realized that Megumi was speaking to her as an adult, as an equal, for the first time in their long acquaintance. "This isn't like taking in a stray dog, or a feral cat, or those birds you've got half-tamed. This will be harder than anything you've ever done, and it may be for nothing. It may be that he will never be fixed, never be whole; that he'll need you for his entire life. And the longer he stays with you, the more traumatic it will be should you ever decide that you've had enough. You're talking about a lifetime commitment."

"But if I don't do it, then someone else will have to, right?" Acting on instinct, she took Megumi's hand and held it, feeling her warmth seep into the other woman's skin. "I found him. I took him in. I made him think – think that this was his new… home. I can't say I don't have any responsibility here. I can't just walk away."

Megumi only looked at her for a long suspended moment. Then she turned away and nearly smiled, like the bitter twist of a rind burning in the fire.

"…that's true, I suppose." She drew her hand out of Kaoru's and sat back, tossing her long hair. "Well. If you're determined to do the stupid thing, I don't see how I can stop you. I'll help as much as I can – I owe him that much."

Kaoru wanted to ask but didn't. Instead, she settled back on her cushion.

"What's the first step?"

"The first step is to get him out of the bathhouse. Do you have a spare room?"

"Sure, next to Yahiko's."

"We'll move him there while he's recovering. Afterwards, of course, he'll sleep in front of your door."

Kaoru choked on her tea. "What?"

"Oh yes. Unless you want to tell him that he's got no value to you." There was a savage glint in Megumi's eye. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"N – no! But that… that's _sick_."

"Think about it this way," Megumi said, rising to clear away the tea things. "A beloved pet sleeps in the same room as their master, don't they? It's the same principle. And that's what he understands right now. That's his language. You'll have to learn to speak it in order to convince him to _trust_ you as well as serve you – and you can't teach him your language – our language, the language of the free – until he _does_ trust you. Does that make sense?"

Kaoru couldn't suppress a shudder. "I… I wish it didn't."

Megumi cast a strange glance at her, both pitying and respectful, and she was reminded of how Grandmother Sumi had looked at her after her first moon-blood.

"We all feel that way, Kamiya," she said quietly, through a crooked grin. "Welcome to the war."

* * *

Kaoru knelt by the futon, watching Kenshin sleep. He was sleeping calmly now, bundled in every spare blanket they could find. Megumi had wanted to induce a mild fever in order to help burn out any infection.

She'd told Kaoru that the strange circular wounds were made by bullets. As far as she could tell, none of the pellets remained in the wounds, but she had told Kaoru the signs of metal poisoning and made her recite them until she was satisfied that Kaoru knew them word-perfect, and Kaoru had sworn to fetch her if she even thought she saw the beginnings of it.

"…what happened to you?" she whispered. She wanted to brush the hair from his face, smooth the tension on his brow – but she didn't, because she didn't have that right, because the last thing she wanted to do, ever, was take his permission for granted. Given the circumstances.

So she knelt by his side and she watched him sleep, and she tried to understand what she'd gotten herself into.

He looked so _young_. At least ten years in slavery, Megumi had told her, possibly more, captured when he was already skilled. He had to be older than he looked; he looked all of fifteen and achingly vulnerable when those unsettlingly blank eyes were closed.

And if Megumi was right – and she knew Megumi was even though she _wanted_ her to be wrong, wanted it as much as she'd wanted the man from the army who'd told her _your father is dead_ to be a dream – according to Megumi, he would do whatever she told him to. No matter how badly it hurt him, or how dangerous it was. She could tell him to cut off his own sword-hand and he wouldn't refuse…

Kaoru realized that she was shaking. With anger, god yes, more anger than she knew what to do with, but above and beyond the rage… she was scared. There was a lump in her throat that she couldn't swallow down, and while she'd meant every word of what she'd said to Megumi…

…how could she possibly be ready for this? How could _anyone?_

There was a scuffle outside the door. She turned to see Yahiko lurking just outside and smiled wanly.

"Did Megumi finish explaining things?"

"Yeah." He kicked at the floor, slouching, and under other circumstances she would have told him to stand up straight and stop scratching her floorboards. Instead she thought of the two cross-scars on each of Yahiko's hands – mark of a twice-times-thief, one strike away from slavery – and all she wanted to do was hug her student tight and swear to him that she would never let anything hurt him.

In fact, only the sure knowledge that such a show of affection would scare him more than anything Megumi had said prevented her from doing just that.

"So you know we can't tell anyone he's here just yet?"

Yahiko nodded. "Not 'till we know if he escaped or not. Um." He swallowed. "Um. If he _did _escape… then what?"

"I…" She looked over at Kenshin. "I don't know. We can't keep him hidden forever… I suppose I'd – I'd have to leave the country, with him."

"Oh." His voice was small. "Um. What about me?"

She started. "Well – you'd come with me. If you wanted to. Or you could stay and watch over the school."

"…you mean that?"

Now she looked at him – really _looked_, setting aside all her fears to concentrate on her student. He was almost huddling in the doorway, studying the floor. Her student. Ten years old and a mouth like a sewer, the biggest brat she'd ever met, thrice-caught-thief who'd only escaped a branding because Sano happened to be walking by and bought him with a promise to mark him later, a promise he never intended to keep. Instead he'd brought Yahiko here.

She'd gotten his story from him in fits and starts, between insults and mockery. His parents had died in debt when he was so young that he could barely remember their names. There had been enough money when all their possessions were sold to save him from the auction block, but not enough to provide for him. He'd been cast out on the street, even the clothes on his back a charitable gift from a creditor's wife. She'd pitied him enough to see him clothed, but not enough to take him in.

One day, Kaoru _was_ going to find that woman. And they were going to have a _very_ long talk.

Yahiko had survived. Some of what he'd done and seen he'd talk about; some of it she only suspected from the nightmares she pretended not to know he had. But he'd turned thief eventually, gotten caught once, twice, three times and if Sano hadn't happened to be passing through the slave market that day, hadn't happened to be flush for once in his life…

"Absolutely," she said firmly, smiling. "You're my student – I can't see my father's dream fulfilled without you."

He straightened a little. "That's right! Better not forget it, Ugly."

"How could I?" she said, rolling her eyes. "You never shut up about it."

He stuck out his tongue at her and walked away, stretching his arms over his head. His back was straight, and his head was high. Kaoru sighed, shaking her head, and wished that all her problems could be solved so easily. She glanced at Kenshin.

His eyes were open.

How much had he heard?

"Kenshin?"

He turned his head, focusing those emotionless eyes on her.

"Yes, mistress?"

She suppressed a shudder.

"How are you feeling?"

He blinked, seeming not to understand the question.

"This worthless one is injured," he said softly, after a pause that was almost too long.

"Yes, but – I mean, are you comfortable? Do you need an extra pillow? More blankets – well, you might want less, but Megumi says you need to stay warm." She was babbling, hands twisting around each other in her lap, and she couldn't seem to stop herself.

Another long, confused pause.

"This worthless one has no desires, mistress."

He tensed as he said it, like a child who knew they were in trouble no matter what they did or said but wanted desperately to say the right thing. Kaoru felt sick.

"Okay. Um… there's some medicine you're supposed to take. Can you sit up and drink on your own?"

Instead of answering, he began struggling to do what she'd said.

"No!" she cried out, and he froze. She wrapped her arms around him without thinking. "Don't strain yourself – here, lie back down – "

Kaoru helped him back down onto the futon and did a cursory check of the bandages for fresh bleeding, hoping that he hadn't reopened or aggravated his wounds. Nothing seemed to have been hurt.

Why on earth had he – ?

_He cannot act without orders, even to preserve his own life_. Megumi's words echoed in her memory, and she covered her mouth with her hand in shock as she realized that _of course_, by extension, he had to obey, and she'd _meant_ it as a question but –

_Well done, Kaoru, not fifteen minutes in and you've already screwed up._

She took a deep breath.

"Kenshin."

"Yes, mistress?"

He was staring at the ceiling, hands flat at his sides on top of the blanket. She forced her spine straight and her head high.

"If you can sit up _without_ pain, or straining yourself, do so. If not, _say_ that you cannot." There. That should work.

She thought she saw his eyes widen, in shock or confusion or – something she had no name for.

"…this worthless one cannot, mistress."

_Now we're getting somewhere._

Kaoru nodded.

"Alright. I'll help you sit up, then. Let me get the medicine ready, first."

She had brought a tray in with her: a water jug, a glass, and a covered bowl of congee with egg mixed in. He needed to build up his strength, after all. And Megumi has supervised the cooking, so it wasn't likely to make him any _worse_. Kaoru took the medicine packet from her sleeve and poured a glass of water, mixing in the bitter powder. Then she touched Kenshin's shoulder.

"I'm going to help you now. Don't strain yourself; just lean into me, understand?"

"Yes, mistress."

He let her slide her arms under his shoulders and lift him, curling obediently against her. She got him sitting up and leaning against her chest with her arms around him, then held the glass out to him.

"Here. Sorry, it's going to be a little bitter. Can you – sorry. If you can drink without pain or strain, do so. If you can't, tell me so. In fact, from now on, if you can't do something because it will hurt you, or if you need to stop doing something because you're tired, or you've been hurt, tell me right away. Understand?"

"…yes, mistress." And that indescribable look again.

He took the cup from her hand and drank mechanically. When he was done, he held the cup until she took it from him, filled it again, and handed it back. He drank it down. Then she handed him the congee.

"Please, eat."

He took the bowl and held it in one hand, scooping the congee out with the fingers of his other hand. She realized, too late, that she'd forgotten to give him the spoon. But only a few mouthfuls in, he stopped abruptly.

"Kenshin?"

She _felt_ him shiver, and wished she knew if it was pain or fear.

"This worthless one cannot continue, mistress."

"If you eat any more, will it make you sick? Or are you tired?"

"Tired, mistress."

"Then let me feed you," she said briskly, taking the bowl from his hands and trying not to think about how incredibly intimate the situation was as she reached for the spoon. He was a feverish weight against her chest, his own head barely higher than hers. It reminded her, absurdly, of the time Yahiko had been sick – except that Yahiko had been thoroughly embarrassed by the entire thing, and Kenshin just… accepted it. It was like playing with a doll, except dolls didn't breathe or run fevers or have strong, calloused hands that shouldn't be lying limply at his sides…

She shook her head slightly and focused on what she was doing. After he had eaten the entire bowl, she lowered him back down to the futon and tucked him in automatically, smoothing the blankets over his chest.

"Just rest now, okay? Rest and heal. I'll be checking in on you. Tell me right away if you're hungry or thirsty or need to, um, get up to, you know, use the– facilities."

She flushed red as she said it, but he wasn't the first invalid she'd nursed. And she wasn't going to risk aggravating his wounds. She'd had to help Yahiko get to and from the bathroom when he was ill, and this wouldn't be that much different, right?

"Concentrate on getting better, okay? That's all I want from you."

He turned his head towards her and for a second – just a second, so fast she almost missed it – he looked _confused_. Not his earlier animal confusion, like a dog who'd been given an order they didn't understand. Real, human confusion – where am I, what's going on, why is it happening?

And then it was gone.

"Yes, mistress," he said, and closed his eyes.

Just a flash, nothing more. But she had to hope.


	3. into the woods

Sano dropped his pack outside the Kamiya gate and stretched his arms over his head, feeling the joints pop. Damn trip got longer every time he made it – and the East Sea Road was less and less safe, nowadays, as unregulated Western guns flooded the country and peasants turned to banditry to make ends meet. Not that he could blame them. What with inflation and the rising tax rate, it was that, starve, or sell your children into slavery.

He flexed his right hand, grimacing. There had been more slave caravans than usual; he had his theories about why, but that didn't make it any easier to pass them without doing or saying _something_. He had to remember that it wasn't just him anymore, and hadn't been for a long time. There was a plan. The plan was proceeding.

He would live to see a free Japan.

"Oi! Missy!" he called out. The gate was closed. That wasn't usual, and always meant to proceed with caution. Sano waited a few moments, then called out again. "Kid? Is anyone home?"

Footsteps. The gate opened and Kaoru peered out. She smiled when she saw him, but there was a wan and brittle look in her eyes. His brow creased in concern.

"Sano! Welcome back," she said, and opened the gate further. Seeing the look on his face, she broadened her grin. Sano cracked his knuckles and shot her a you're-not-fooling-me look.

"What's wrong, little lady?"

Her smiled faded and she looked away.

"You'd better come inside first. It's complicated."

"That so?" He picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. "Guess I'm coming in, then."

The compound was quiet. The high walls blocked what little noise filtered in from the streets, and Kaoru didn't have that many neighbors to begin with. The isolation made it a useful place to hide things – and people – that he didn't want found. That, and Kaoru's reputation. Her parents had been respected in the community, and some of that glamour had worn off on their daughter. She didn't really realize it, having never _not_ had influence, but people extended her more than the ordinary courtesy and would never suspect her of harboring escaped slaves – or anything else illegal, for that matter.

It wasn't only escapees that he funneled through here: there were the packages, and the "friends in need," and maybe it was wrong to use her home as a safehouse for the cause but she never asked questions and it was so much safer for her if she didn't know the full extent of things.

"Yahiko!" she called as they walked together towards the main house. "Sano's back!"

"About _time!_" came an indignant shout from the training hall. Yahiko pelted out, barely stopping to slide on his sandals, and leapt in the air with his bamboo sword held high.

"Prepare yourself!"

Sano stepped idly to one side. Yahiko landed on the ground – he didn't stumble this time, good on him, kid had been working hard – and charged again. Sano pressed his hand against Yahiko's forehead and held him casually at arm's length as the kid swung his practice sword, furiously trying to score a hit.

"Later, kid, okay? Seems me 'n the missy've got some business to take care of."

And, to Sano's surprise, the kid left off immediately.

"Right," he said, lowering the bamboo blade. "That guy. Um, Kaoru, should I…?"

"Go back to the training hall. When you've finished your exercises for today and cleaned up, you can go visit with Tsubame."

"Got it." He nodded and jogged off. Sano blinked.

"This _must_ be serious," he commented, and it was only half a joke.

"It is," she said, pausing to take off her shoes. "Or at least, Megumi thinks so."

He slid off his own sandals and followed her into the house.

"Well, don't keep me hangin' like this. What's going on?"

"It's probably easier to show you. Don't fly off the handle, okay?" She stopped outside on the spare bedrooms and knocked on the wood frame of the screen. "Kenshin? I'm coming in."

_Kenshin?_ Sano frowned. He'd never heard that name before. What had Kaoru managed to get her tangled in during the two weeks he'd been gone? It couldn't be _too_ bad, or Megumi would have sent a messenger pigeon…

There was no response from inside the room, but Kaoru opened the screen anyway. It took Sano all of three seconds to recognize the bandaged man kneeling on the futon – _red hair, slave brand on left cheek, strange blue eyes_ – and as soon as he did, he shoved Kaoru behind his back and brought up his fists.

"Kaoru, get out of here!"

"No!" She shoved past him; he grabbed the collar of her kimono and she cried out, temporarily choked. And then the manslayer was on his feet and lunging at them and Kaoru was _in the way_ –

"Kenshin! _Stop!_"

– the manslayer's legs folded under him. He collapsed onto the floor, shaking, and pressed his forehead to the matting. Sano's jaw dropped. His grip on Kaoru's collar loosened and she pulled away from him to kneel next to the manslayer. He flinched away from her.

"Mistress. Forgive this worthless one," he murmured, and Sano saw his fingers dig slightly into the mats.

Sano stared, blood and adrenaline still pounding in his veins. Then the gears started turning and he sagged heavily against the door, emptying his lungs in a single, shocked breath.

"Holy _shit_."

Kaoru ignored him, resting two fingers lightly on the manslayer's sleeve. He started at the touch, bracing himself for a blow.

"It's alright," she said quietly, and Sano had known her for too long not to notice the banked rage in her eyes even as she held herself so gently. "Sano startled me, too. But he's my friend, and you can't hurt him, understand?"

"Yes, mistress. There will be no further errors."

Sano had never heard the manslayer speak before. He knew _of_ the man, of course, had seen him a couple of times when Kanryu made public appearances and brought along a bodyguard, but he'd never heard him say a word. His voice was – not even a voice. It was a sound that made words. Voices had personality, told the listener about the person they belonged to. Kaoru's voice was high and determined, Yahiko's was brash and loud, Megumi's was low and smooth as black silk… but there was nothing in the manslayer's voice. It was just a sound.

Sano suppressed a shiver.

Kaoru coaxed the manslayer back onto the futon and slid off the top of his robe to check his bandages. Sano noticed, now, the full extent of his injuries, and closed his eyes briefly while he cursed himself for a fool. Of course. Of course, if she'd found someone in that state she'd have to help. She didn't have it in her not to. And why would she think to be careful when he'd never _told_ her that she had to be? He had been trying to _protect_ her, for fuck's sake.

He pressed the heel of his hand briefly against his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. Goddammit. God_dammit_.

Sano's eyes narrowed as he watched Kaoru tending the manslayer. He didn't look like much, sitting on the futon as Kaoru checked his wounds. It would have made a sweet picture, the woman tending the injured warrior, if not for the total blankness in his eyes and the way he tracked every move she made. Like his life depended on anticipating her and yielding to her desires without being asked…

Something else clicked, and Sano choked on a string of words that he definitely didn't want Kaoru to know he used regularly.

"Kaoru?"

"Yes?" she said, finishing her examination.

"How – _exactly_ – did the_ manslayer _end up _here?_"

"_His_ _name_," and Sano winced at the acid in her voice. "is _Kenshin_. Please use it."

"Fine." He clenched his fist, biting back a growing anger. "How did _Kenshin_ – Kanryu's rabid little _pet_ – end up _sleeping in your guestroom?_"

The manslayer tensed, shrinking in on himself. His hands flexed as he reached for the blade that wasn't at his side. At least Kaoru'd had that much sense.

Kaoru sighed and slid the manslayer's robe back on before she stood up.

"Like I said, it's complicated."

"Well, fuckin' enlighten me." Anger and dread warred in him: anger at himself, at her, at the whole ugly mess. Dread, because he had a pretty good idea of what had happened – the rough outline, if not the details – and there was no way Kaoru would consider doing the smart thing. That was what he loved about her, why thisplace was the memory he clung to when he'd seen too much evil for one person to bear andneeded to remember that taking action just-because wasn't worth fucking everything up.

In this case, though, it stood a damn good chance of getting her killed.

He'd thought this might happen, eventually: she was too willing to give herself away. But he'd always dismissed the thought soon after, because he'd done his best to shield her from the real fight – and he'd never thought that keeping her ignorant might be what dragged her in. Although he really should have. Dammit, dammit, _dammit._

"Fine, then. Come with me," she said, tugging at Sano's sleeve as she left the room. He followed her, glancing over his shoulder at the manslayer. He was kneeling on the futon again, immobile as a statue.

She took him into the kitchen and told him what had happened as she made lunch, and she was distracted enough that the meal turned out half-edible. Sano let her talk, half-listening to the story he'd already figured out and watching her instead.

Kaoru was scared. He didn't like it. Kaoru didn't _get_ scared, she got _angry, _and although she was that, too –so angry he didn't think she was any more aware of it than a fish was of water – it was mixed with a bone-shaking fear that didn't sit right on her.

And it was his fault. He could have kept her totally in the dark, or he could have told her everything. Instead, he'd tried to compromise and ended up telling her just enough to get her into bad trouble.

"You're not gonna give him up, are you?" he said when she was finished.

"…no." Her voice was quiet. "I can't. I'm committed."

"Shit." He stared glumly at his lunch, appetite gone. "I'm sorry, missy."

She wrinkled her brow, picking at her own meal.

"What for?"

He scratched the back of his neck, sighing.

"'Cause I shouldn't 'a kept things from you. Or I should 'a just never told y'anything to begin with. One or the other."

"I don't think it would have mattered." She finally took a bite and chewed slowly, not savoring it: like someone with a stomachache or recovering from the flu, eating only because they had to. She swallowed. "I don't think anything would have changed the choices I made. I couldn't – I _can't_ leave someone like that. Anyone."

"So, Fox told y'about what I really do, other'n the – you know?"

She nodded. "It shocked me at first, but when I thought about it, it explained a _lot_. Like why you're always going off to Kyoto. You're not stopping there, are you?"

"Well – actually, I do stop there. 'S where I meet with my contact. It's, ah – we try not to know too much about each other, y'know?"

"A clandestine cell system."

He blinked, surprised.

"I'm not totally ignorant," she said tartly, eating a bit more. "You're the head of the Edo cell, aren't you? You know everyone in your cell, and your contact, but no one else. Everyone in the cell knows you, and might know one or two other people, but no one else. That way, no one person can bring down the organization."

"Pretty much." He weighed whether or not to tell her that he was actually the head of _an_ Edo cell – technically, that wasn't information he was supposed to have, but he had ears and people got sloppy. "Look – how involved d'you wanna be?"

"Aren't I already pretty involved?" She looked up at him and glared, piercing him. "You haven't just been passing escaped slaves through my home, right? How much danger have I already been in?"

"...look, they can't get y' on treason if you didn't _know_, and helpin' escaped slaves is just theft…"

"And do you _really_ think I would have let you just – _oh!_" She jabbed her chopsticks at him, eyes snapping. "You _stupid,_ _idiot, selfish_ – "

He raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"I fucked up. No excuse. I'm sorry."

"Well… _good_." She started eating with a will. "Now, Megumi said that you can find out what happened – if he was abandoned, or escaped, or what. I've been keeping him hidden, but I need to know what to do next."

"Okay, okay." He started eating, then, glad to see some light back in her eyes. "I gotta meet with my guy this evening anyway, I'll talk to 'im then. Sheesh."

"Fine. And if I have to leave with Kenshin, and Yahiko won't come, I expect you to take responsibility for him! And for my father's school! I don't want to come back one day and find the place in ruins, or turned into some kind of _gambling_ _den_ full of your _loser friends!_"

"Alright! I get it! Lay off, already!"

They ate lunch and squabbled, and Sano felt the dust of the road flaking off him: he was home now, and there was nothing he couldn't handle.

* * *

Kaoru and Sano walked together as far as the first bridge before he turned off, citing the need to meet a friend – his "guy," presumably – and Kaoru continued on to the market. The contentment she felt whenever Sano came home and her family reunited had only been a temporary relief. Now the tight knot in her stomach began to reassert itself, and she had to stop in the middle of the bridge to watch the water swirling at the base of the posts and breathe. Deep. Through the nose into the center of her being, the seat of power, and out again through the mouth, carrying disharmony away with it.

Then she continued on, reviewing her grocery list and the monthly budget. She could make it work – Sano had handed over some cash before he left – even with the extra mouth to feed.

She should have brought Yahiko with her. He'd need to know how to do this, if she had to leave. Or maybe not – maybe he'd decide to go with her. Which would leave Sano in charge of the school. He was a grown man, he could at least shop for groceries. Right?

…could she really leave Japan? She didn't speak any language other than Japanese, she'd never even left Edo. But what if – could she just pack up and go? It wouldn't be that bad, right? Sano's organization helped people do this all the time. There would be other Japanese people in the free countries, wouldn't there? She wouldn't be totally alone…

Her heart started racing and she had to pause again in the shade of a gingko tree.

Enough. She was borrowing trouble, and there'd be plenty of that when the bills came due without taking out a loan against the present moment.

Kaoru threw back her shoulders, lifted her chin, and marched off to market.

It was early afternoon, and the crowds were beginning to return after a collective break for lunch. There were slaves mixed in with the free citizens: following after their owners or walking alone, heads bowed. Lifting and carrying and running and fetching, branded with a simple cross on cheek or forehead – where it couldn't be hidden – and wearing their masters' crests on their clothes. Most of them, anyway. Some were marked with a tattoo on a forearm or inside of a wrist; those inked crests didn't always match the ones on their clothes.

Kaoru had asked, once, why some slaves were marked that way and what happened if those slaves were sold. Sano's face had gone dark, and he'd told her that she really didn't want to know. She'd heard rumors anyway: that particularly attractive slaves would be singled out, for certain reasons, and sent to special training-houses…

Kenshin only had a cross on his cheek. She touched her own, absently, and thought for a moment that she felt the raised lines of a scar.

She'd never paid much attention to the slaves. It was hard to look at them without feeling sick, without wanting to do something and not knowing what it was. But she couldn't avoid them, so she had taught herself not to notice them. Now, though, she watched them carefully: how they acted around their masters, around the free, around each other. Some of them were a little like Kenshin: silent and subdued, responding immediately to any offhand statement from their masters and otherwise unresponsive. Others were subservient, but at least looked around and took note of things when not dancing attendance. And some acted more like servants than anything else, talking respectfully but freely and even initiating conversations, albeit mostly with other slaves. The last group largely traveled alone, trusted to complete errands without supervision, and she wondered if that was what made the difference.

She couldn't ask them, of course. Etiquette demanded that you never approach a stranger's slave, any more than you would try to borrow their shopping basket without permission. And she doubted she'd get a straight answer even if she could. So she sighed instead and turned to her shopping, idly browsing through the vegetables.

"Something on your mind, miss?"

Kaoru looked up, startled, and smiled politely at the shopkeeper.

"Oh, it's nothing." Her eyes strayed to the young woman kneeling on the raised floor of the shop, behind the street stalls, sorting and weighing tied bunches of leeks. She turned to place her bundles in a basket, and Kaoru saw the cross burned on her cheek. Maybe…

"Well, if you have a moment…" She took a breath, focusing on the shopkeeper. He was an older man, with a gentle look in his eye. And yet he owned a slave.

"For various reasons, I'm considering buying a slave. I've never had one before – my family never needed one. But since my parents passed away…" she let her voice trail off. "…anyway, I was just wondering…"

"Ah, I see." He nodded sagely, clicking his tongue against the pipe in the corner of his mouth. "Well, well. And what kind of help are you needing?"

She shrugged. "Repairs. Gardening. I can't do everything by myself, and I don't have any older brothers – well, I have one, but he has to travel a lot." That was true enough – Sano counted. More or less.

The old man rubbed his chin, a contemplative gleam in his eyes. "Sounds like you need a husband more than you do a slave."

"Oh, no!" She flushed, not acting. "I can't possibly – not yet, anyway. There are circumstances…"

Kaoru crossed her fingers in her sleeve, hoping the old man wouldn't pry any further. Thankfully he only chuckled and tapped his finger to the side of his nose.

"Well, it's your business. But, seein' as you're a woman alone, you might consider buying yourself a guard – you can always get 'im trained to do the work you need, and it's easier than training a domestic to be a guard, I can tell you that much, for all it costs a little extra."

"A guard?"

"Ay." He nodded firmly. "Used to be guards were the least reliable slave you could get. Puttin' a weapon in a slave's hands had a way of making them think they were near as good as citizens. 'Bout ten years ago, though, the Kanryu group started selling guards that were just as docile as you please. Cut their own throats if you ordered it, even. I wouldn't hesitate to recommend 'em, even to a woman."

"I… I see." Her stomach lurched. She forced a smile over her nausea. "I'll definitely keep that in mind. If I could just get these vegetables…? I really have to be getting back home soon."

She concluded her business quickly and managed to walk away from the stall calmly, without rushing or appearing anything other than a young woman buying groceries. As soon as it was feasible, she turned into an alley, hid behind a pile of lumber, and was promptly and violently sick.

* * *

Yahiko paused outside the door to Kenshin's room, chewing on his lower lip. He'd carried his practice sword in with him – something Kaoru frowned on, as a rule, but he felt older when he had it strapped to his back. Stronger. Like he could take on the world.

He started to reach for the door, changed his mind, and turned to leave. Then he changed it again and opened the door.

Kenshin was kneeling on the futon, head bowed. His only reaction was a quick flick of his eyes towards the door when it opened; otherwise he held himself as still as a statue.

"Hey," Yahiko said. There was a subtle tensing of Kenshin's shoulders. Nothing else.

"…my name's Yahiko." He took a step into the room. "I'm Kaoru's student."

Kenshin's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He turned to face Yahiko, bowed, and held it, moving as smoothly as a clockwork doll, except that dolls had more personality.

"Young master," he said flatly. The hairs on Yahiko's neck stood up. It wasn't only the lifelessness; he'd seen that before, and not only in slaves. The women of the pleasure quarters, the children who went away with the strange old men offering them food and shelter and came back changed…

He swallowed, hard.

There had been dogs in the slums. Vicious, starving things, more than half-wild and as dangerous as the people who owned them. Most of the dogs did have owners; were kept, not for love or companionship, but as weapons. As good as fists or firearms or hidden daggers – better, actually, since they were cheaper. They could find their own food, after all, and some bitch somewhere was always whelping.

He'd learned to spot the owned dogs quickly. The ferals slunk around and stole from the edges, but the guard dogs stalked openly through the muddied streets, carrying an air of menace with them. Of desperate violence waiting to break free: teeth that yearned to rip and tear because that was all they were. That meant the difference between starvation and a full belly, between pain and not-pain, between a roof over their head or a shivering night in the frozen mud. It wasn't a question of desire, not really. But a dog that didn't fight had no use to its master, and a useless dog wasn't even worth killing. They'd die soon enough on their own.

The man kneeling submissively on the futon felt like those dogs.

Yahiko forced himself to take another step, moving through air that was suddenly thick as water.

"I wanted to say…" His mouth was bone-dry and he worked his jaw, trying to moisten it. "I wanted to say – it's strange being here, right? 'Cause Kaoru's doing her mom thing, and that's not how it works. And I wanted to tell you – "

He faltered there; then he remembered his own first days here, the strain of waiting for the masks to come off, and rallied.

"…I wanted to tell you, it's not fake. She's for real. Look." He pushed up the sleeves he wore draped over his hands and let Kenshin see the thief-marks on his palms. "Three times a thief, see? I should be branded, but – Sano, he saved me. And he brought me here, and Kaoru – I know she's kinda overbearing, and she's got a bad temper and she can't cook – but once she's on your side, she'll never – she doesn't give up on people, and she doesn't rat them out, no matter what. And she's on your side now, so she won't let anything bad happen to you. You're _safe_. You don't have to be afraid. Really."

He searched Kenshin's face for some sign that the other man understood. And there didn't seem to be any – except then there was, just a flash of something: blue eyes that darkened in worry, just for a moment, and the sense of animal menace suddenly receded.

"She won't hurt you, _ever_," Yahiko said, letting his sleeves fall over his hands again. "She won't let anyone else hurt you either. So don't be scared. That's all."

He nodded and turned to leave. In the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Kenshin reach out; but when he looked over his shoulder, Kenshin hadn't moved at all.

* * *

Megumi was making wound salve.

The manslayer – no, Kenshin, he was Kenshin now, had _always_ been deep down and it was important that she believe that with her very bones – had needed most of what she had in stock. Sagara was due back today or tomorrow, and he would use what she had left. So she was making more. It kept for months, and would always be in demand.

The pestle ground against the mortar in quick, simple circles.

She did not weep, because the salt of her tears would alter the composition of the salve, and the salve would be needed.

She'd been so proud to be chosen. So proud to serve. Her family's lord had called her to audience and assigned her specially to serve as Dr. Tsukuda's assistant. It was very important, she'd been told. She'd been chosen because the absolute best was required. And she'd been so proud and so confident that she'd never asked what she was making or why, and one day after Dr. Tsukuda had died she had been summoned to meet with his patron, her lord's ally, the man she really worked for.

And then she'd known what she was. What she had allowed herself to become, in her pride; she had been so eager to prove herself that she had betrayed everything her family held dear. Kanryu had taken her down to the training pens and showed her, and sometimes she could go a full hour without remembering the stench or the screams.

His grip had nearly fractured her wrist, growing tighter every time she tried to close her eyes or turn away. It had left bruises, deep black handprints that he'd never allowed the chance to fade.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry_, the pestle ground out, and her sin settled deeper into her bones.

And if she was a different woman, she might say: I had no choice. And if she was a different woman, she might say: I tried to stop it. And if she was a different woman, she might say: at least I escaped when I had the chance.

But she was herself, and she knew what she was, so she knelt on her bamboo mat and made wound salve and she did not weep, because the salt in her tears would alter the salve, and the salve would be needed.

Someone rang the bell at the gate and Megumi looked up, startled out of her meditations. She left her mortar and pestle and went outside, peering carefully through the peephole. It was Sagara, standing with his hands in his pockets and a disgruntled look.

"Yo, Fox, open up."

"Polite as ever," she sniffed, unlatching the gate and opening it. "So you're back."

"Yeah. And I stopped at Kaoru's before I came here."

Megumi froze for a moment, then made herself examine her nails as he stepped inside, shutting the gate behind him.

"So you know."

"Takani." Even now he kept himself under control; he didn't use her name, because he knew that she couldn't stand it when a man used her name. "What the _fuck_ were you thinking?"

He kept his hands in his pockets, although she'd seen him like this before and she knew it was more his nature to grab her shoulders and give her a good shake. But he knew what it would make her remember if he did.

She hated him, a little, for all the things that he knew.

"I was thinking that there wasn't much point in crying over spilled milk." She shrugged, walking back towards the house, and Sagara followed. "It's not my fault you kept Kamiya ignorant. He'd already fixed on her, without being prompted – at least this way he's with someone he can't hurt."

"Did it not occur t'you that it might be some kinda trick? That Kanryu's just lookin' t'get to you?"

"And why on earth would he send the man – would he send _Kenshin_ to get under my skin?"

"…she's got you doing it too, huh?" Sagara rubbed a weary hand over his face. "Because even I can tell that you pity the guy, and that you're carryin' a load of guilt around. 'Course you'd jump at a chance to help him. And then – " he smacked his closed fist against his open palm. "He's got ya."

"Shinomori would have _warned_ us. In fact, since you're here, doesn't that mean he'll be by soon? And if it _is_ a trap, isn't it better to have Kenshin staying far away from me?" She ushered him into the clinic, tossing her hair. "And for your information, Kamiya doesn't have me doing _anything_. Kenshin is his _name_. Now, sit and wait for Shinomori, I have work to finish – "

"I am here."

Megumi blanched, clutching her chest, and took a startled step back. Shinomori stepped out from a shadowy alcove in front of her. His blue eyes were shaded under his bangs, and he spared her only a passing glance.

"Aoshi," Sagara said, nodding in greeting. "How's tricks?"

"I have information for you."

"Yeah, about that – do you know about who Kaoru found?"

Shinomori nodded. "I'm aware. He's no threat."

"That a fact?" Sagara raised an eyebrow. "Well, why don't we all sit down, then, and you can tell us more. After that we'll handle business."

The spy inclined his head slightly. It wasn't quite a nod; more a quiet recognition of Sagara's priorities, and the fact that his fears needed to be soothed before they could get anything done. He stood aside and let Megumi lead them to the sitting room, where a tray of tea things stood ready near a cold brazier. She busied herself with lighting it and putting the kettle on while the men settled themselves.

"So," Sagara said when she finally sat back on her heels, "What's the story with this manslayer?"

"He has been abandoned." Shinomori knelt, as Megumi did; only Sagara sat cross-legged, nearly lounging. "Kanryu has relinquished title and possession. All formalities have been observed."

"What?" Megumi started forward and almost knocked over the brazier. "But – why would he?"

Shinomori turned to her and she forced herself not to quail under his impassive stare. They were on the same side, now, and she no reason to fear him.

"Because he was of no further use." Shinomori reached into his messenger's pouch and pulled out a sheaf of papers, spreading them out on the mats. "He is aging. His reflexes were slowing. And Kanryu believed that the conditioning was beginning to… malfunction. The manslayer was used as a training aide for some time, then turned out of the compound."

Training aide. That explained the fresh wounds. Megumi folded her hands in her lap and stared at the kettle, blood draining from her face.

"Waittaminute." Sagara straightened. "Whaddya mean, 'malfunction'? Is the guy dangerous?"

"No," Shinomori said, not looking up. "The core of the conditioning holds. He cannot harm his acknowledged master, or disobey his or her orders. However, recently, the manslayer began to exhibit… lapses in judgment. Inexplicable losses of memory. He appeared to be breaking down, and when the usual methods did not repair the damage, Kanryu concluded he had reached the end of his usefulness." He finished arranging the papers to his satisfaction and looked up. "Kanryu is not a sentimental man."

"No," Megumi said numbly. "He isn't."

"If Miss Kamiya wishes to take possession, she may do so without legal encumbrance. If she does so, it will provide valuable cover. The situation has not changed since my last report; I have not been able to entirely dissuade my men from investigating her without jeopardizing my own position. No one would believe she was an abolitionist if she took a slave."

"Even a useless one?" Sagara asked wryly. Shinomori shrugged.

"It is well-known that the Kamiya family is rich in honor but poor in funds. A woman, alone… she would take what was available. As for her parents' liberal leanings…" he waved his hand. "Again, she is a young woman with many responsibilities and few resources. Perhaps that is why she chose one who had been abandoned – as a salve to her guilt. She would not be the first hypocrite."

Megumi watched silently as Sagara's mouth twisted into a scowl.

"Shinomori's making sense," she said quietly, after he'd had a few moments to process it.

"The little lady's not gonna like it," he said finally. "I mean, _really_ not gonna like it."

"Emancipating him is impractical at this juncture. Among other concerns, I do not believe he qualifies under law." Shinomori sounded completely disinterested, as if he were talking about the weather, and Megumi had to wonder if he really cared or if he only assisted them to advance his own agenda. Whatever that might be.

"Kamiya won't like it, no," she said, looking pointedly at Sagara. "But she'll do it. She's taken up his cause now, and you know what she's like. There's nothing she won't do to keep someone safe. Isn't that why you've used her for so long?"

She had chosen the word deliberately and let a satisfied smirk flit across her lips as Sagara flinched. It was a cruel thing to say – but truth so often was. And regardless of his doubtless genuine care for the girl, he _had_ been using her.

"Aw, _fuck_." Sagara buried his face in his hands, scratching at his shock of brown hair. "Fuck. _Fuck._" The last expletive was drawn out in a weary sigh. "Goddammit. Fine. You _swear_ that Kanryu doesn't want the guy back?"

"He has no further legal or personal interest in the manslayer. Miss Kamiya may assume title without impediment. I would recommend that she do so today if possible; tomorrow at the latest. The manslayer is well-known, and may be of interest to others even with a known defect."

Sagara frowned. "Yeah, but I've gotta give you the latest…"

"I'll go," Megumi stood. "Where is she, the Maekawa's?"

"Market." Sagara looked up at her, puzzled. "Don't you wanna hear?"

"You can fill me in later. Except," and she turned to Shinomori. "The matter we discussed earlier…?"

He handed her a few papers, bound with string. "Kanryu remains aware of your whereabouts, and unconcerned so long as his supplies of the drug hold. I estimate that they will continue to do so for another year. After that…" He shook his head and met her eyes, and there was an unexpected spark of humanity in his gaze. "I am sorry, Miss Takani."

"Well," she said, smiling wanly. "We'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it."

* * *

Kaoru adjusted her grip on the basket, sighing. Her throat ached. She had drunk from the public fountain and washed her face, hands shaking – her collar was still waterstained – but she just didn't feel clean. She didn't have much of a choice, though, because the groceries had to be bought and taken home and put away. Dinner had to be made, and Kenshin's bandages changed. After that she'd be able to take a bath. She planned to scrub herself raw.

The sun was sliding into the west, slanting mellow light across the city. The world was starting to smell of spring again, of flower petals and soil touched by rain. She stopped at the bridge that led to her neighborhood, leaning briefly against the railing and closing her eyes.

"Kamiya!" Someone called her name. She looked over her shoulder.

"Megumi?"

"I'm glad I caught up with you." The older woman hurried to meet her. "Are you done shopping?"

Kaoru nodded. "I was just heading home."

"Good. We need to go by the municipal office before you do."

"Why?" Kaoru took a step back, alarmed. "Is something wrong?"

"No, it's not that," Megumi shook her head. "You need to register title on Kenshin."

"Oh." She blinked. Then she processed what Megumi had said. "Wait. What? _Now?_"

"Ideally."

Kaoru exhaled hard, sagging a little. "Why?"

"Kenshin's a very interesting piece, you know," Megumi's voice was dry. Kaoru knew it wasn't aimed at her. "Historically, that is. He'd make a wonderful addition to any collection."

Her eyes widened and she felt weak. "People _do_ that?"

"Some. Not many. It's a rarified hobby. But it seems that he _was_ abandoned after all, so you need to take title quickly, before anyone else figures out he's up for grabs."

"…oh…" Her arms were suddenly boneless. She set her basket down, half on the path and half on the wood of the bridge. "Sorry. Can I just – can I have a second?"

There was a bench nearby. She stumbled to it and sat down, cradling her head in her hands, and Megumi sat down beside her. The doctor didn't say anything while Kaoru tried to marshal her thoughts into something coherent.

She had convinced herself she'd have to leave the country. That would have been easy; frightening, but easy, because at least she could stay herself. But this… to make a living, thinking man her _chattel_, even if only for show…

"It's not… that I'm having second thoughts," she said abruptly, not lifting her head. "I just – I don't understand."

"I know," Megumi said quietly. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to make it easier."

Her voice was raw and open, and Kaoru looked up, startled by the naked honesty there. Megumi was staring into the sunset, hands folded neatly in her lap, and Kaoru hadn't realized until then that a person could cry without shedding a single tear.

"I could tell you to be glad that it _is_ so hard for you, only I doubt that would help. I could tell you what I was taught at your age, all the reasons why slavery _must_ exist. No one does this simply to be evil, you understand. So many believe, absolutely, that this is the natural order of things, and that we're the ones inexplicably trying to destroy a way of life that harms no one. But even if I told you all that, even if you came to understand the apologetics involved… well, do you think it would help if I did?"

She was speaking as if in a trance. Kaoru slowly straightened. Megumi looked at her, finally, and smiled faintly.

"…maybe it would." She swallowed, hard, unable to escape the sour taste of vomit. A feeling like cool rain poured down her spine, like the moment when she had first taken up a sword: slow and certain and absolute. "I have to know, Megumi. Really know. And I think – you're probably the only person who can teach me. It's not going to be _real_ but – it'll be real for him, won't it? So if I don't know what to do…"

Kaoru swallowed and let the words hang unspoken between them. Megumi closed her eyes.

"You've never asked about my past," she said, and a casual listener might think it was a change of subject.

"No," she said simply. "I don't care about people's pasts."

"Isn't that what got you into this mess?"

"That doesn't change anything."

Megumi very nearly laughed. Then she stood, narrowing her eyes in the dying light.

"Well, the first step is to register your title," she said, and shot Kaoru one of those assessing looks. "Get up, Kamiya. I'll give you the basics on the way."

* * *

It was dark by the time she got home. The light from the houses spilled over their walls and out into the street, not quite as bright as day but not black as night either; light enough to see by. Megumi helped her bring the groceries in, and Yahiko, yawning, offered to escort her home. She accepted with a flirtatious flip of her hair, eyeing Kaoru with fox-gleaming eyes.

"You'll be alright, Kamiya?"

Kaoru nodded and thought _no, I won't_.

She made dinner. It was not impressive.

She brought Kenshin his meal and then ate hers alone, kneeling in the dining room with the doors open and staring across the way to her parents' memorial shrine. They would understand. Wouldn't they?

The air felt very heavy.

After she cleared the dishes away, she lit incense at their altar and knelt for long minutes, praying for forgiveness. Then she went to the storehouse.

The hall to Kenshin's room stretched longer than she remembered it. She walked it carefully, balancing her burdens. When she opened the door he was kneeling in the same spot he'd been in for the past three days, ever since he'd recovered enough to sit up. His empty dishes were stacked neatly on the tray, which had been placed next to the door. If not for that, she wouldn't have known he'd moved at all.

The light from the room's lantern illuminated his hair and cast his face in shadows. She couldn't tell if his eyes were opened or closed; he could be a warrior deep in meditation, and she could be his sister or his daughter, his wife or his maid or his mother come to tend him, and any of those would have been preferable to the truth.

She only had a second to think this, because as soon as the door slid open completely he turned to face her and prostrated himself. She had to choke back the urge to rush to his side, to hold him and chase away his pain and order him never to kneel to anyone ever again.

That wouldn't help, she knew, now that Megumi had explained it to her. He didn't remember what it meant, to have someone be kind. He must have known kindness, once – Megumi had told her about the night she ran away, about the choice he'd made. And it had been a choice. She had to believe that.

No one who didn't understand kindness could have made such a choice.

Megumi had told her a lot, on the walk to and from the municipal office. More than she'd wanted to know; not all that she needed to know. There were some things, too, that she simply couldn't process yet. Wouldn't. A person could only take in so much evil at a time.

"Sit up," she told him, and he obeyed. "I'm going to change your bandages. Take off the top of your robe."

_You're doing too much for him_, Megumi had said, shaking her head, after Kaoru described the last few days: his silence and his stillness and her bewilderment. _It's supposed to be the other way around. It's confusing him. You have to give him duties, Kaoru. Give him a way to serve you, a real way, or he'll assume that he has no value and that you're just toying with him. Usefulness is the only protection a slave has._

Her hands shook as she set out the medicinal salve and unwound the bandages.

"Face away from me and raise your arms."

_Telling him what you're going to do is good, _she'd continued. _It will build trust. Explain things as much as you can. Don't make requests, though. Order him. Think of it like – like training a dog. Be clear, consistent, and confident._

She undid the knot that held the white linen wrapped around his chest in place and unwound the bandages slowly, watching for any sign of pain. Her hands shook a little.

_But I don't want to hurt him_, she'd protested. Megumi had shaken her head.

_You can't rely on him to stop you, even if you order him to. His idea of what hurts him and your idea are probably very different – remember, he's a guard, not a domestic or a pleasure-slave. He's supposed to be tough, to not complain. You'll just have to watch him, all the time. _

The wounds were healing nicely, and would barely scar. He probably didn't need bandages anymore. A training aide… target practice. He had been ordered to stand and allow himself to be beaten until he collapsed, then thrown into the pen at the end of the day to nurse himself as best he could. The next morning it would start all over again, until Kanryu determined he'd exhausted his usefulness as that, too.

And then he'd simply been carried away and dumped on the riverbank.

There was no salve left to apply but her fingers kept tracing over his skin, trying to read the history written there. The lamplight flickered and danced, outlining muscle and bone. She tasted salt on her lips.

"…mistress?"

He was _asking_ her something, even if he didn't quite dare voice the question. Triumph flared in her. And pain, to be so happy for such a small thing. She wiped her eyes and started wrapping him up again.

"Kanryu has relinquished title on you," she said, not quite certain why, except that Megumi had told her it was good to explain things and she wanted him to know. "Do you understand what that means?"

She fastened the new bandages into place. He had frozen as she spoke, and she thought that maybe she was learning to read him, a little, because it seemed to her that there was terror underneath it.

"Turn and face me. I need to do your arms, now."

And even in that terror he obeyed with a fluid grace that hurt her heart to see.

She'd asked Megumi what, exactly, Kanryu had made Kenshin do. Megumi had told her that he'd been a guard and only that; when Kanryu left the compound he had taken Kenshin with him, but when Kanryu was in residence Kenshin was left to wander the grounds and deal with any trespassers. He'd slept in Kanryu's room, hidden behind a screen, and when Kaoru had asked Megumi how she knew that the older woman had gotten that frozen, faraway look, and Kaoru hadn't needed to be told.

_And…_ Megumi had hesitated, then. _Sometimes, he had Kenshin perform. For guests. Like you'd show off a trained animal, only with swordsmanship._

Rage stiffened her fingers and they slipped, her bare knuckles barking against a half-healed scrape.

"I'm sorry. My fingers slipped." She looked up into his eyes – those startling blue eyes, shading into violet like a winter sunrise – and wanted to cry.

Megumi hadn't understood. She had known, obscurely, that something about those _performances_ was as bad as all the rest, sensed it through some mutual bond between masters even of vastly different domains. But she hadn't understood, because she had never handled a sword in her life, so how could she?

How could she understand what it was to take the core of his being, what should be his pride and glory, and turn it into a _show_, a _trick_ that he _performed_ – roll over, sit, beg, head-strike, body-strike…

Blasphemy.

She made herself steel as she finished bandaging his arms, winding herself with control as she wound his limbs with cloth. Then she slid the second tray in front of him and stood.

"As Kanryu has relinquished title to you," she said through numb lips, thanking the long years of discipline that helped her do it and hating herself for tainting them with _this_, "I have claimed it. You are mine. You will wear my crest, obey me and no other. Do you understand, Kenshin?"

She looked down at him, chanting _be steel, be steel, be iron and stone_ through the static in her head and the pain in her heart and praying that he wouldn't see the truth written in her eyes.

He stared at the tray for a long moment – the neatly folded clothing stamped with the Kamiya crest (her father's formal wear from when he was younger, and she prayed his spirit would understand); the arm guards, similarly emblazoned; and the wooden sword balanced carefully atop it. Not a true sword. Because she was herself and she _would not_ have a member of her household bearing live steel.

Then he bowed and she remembered that moment in the bathhouse, the first time he had called her mistress: his absolute surrender and the deathlike peace within it, the cold comfort of a man finally letting water into his lungs.

"Yes, mistress."

"One other thing."

And this wasn't in the script she'd worked out with Megumi on that endless walk home, but she added it because there were some pieces of herself she would not sacrifice. She crouched in front of him, one knee resting on the floor so that she was still a few fingers taller than him.

"Look at me."

He raised his head.

"I know why Kanryu abandoned you," she said quietly. "I don't care. You have value to _me_. You don't need to know why," and that was perhaps the most terrible lie ever to pass her lips, but Megumi had said he that wouldn't understand and she had to trust Megumi to lead her through the darkness ahead. "All you need to know is that you _do_. You will _always_ have value to me. I swear it on my family name and my own honor. This is your home now, and forever, no matter what happens. Do you understand?"

The lamp-oil crackled and the leaves in the courtyard rustled softly. He stared up at her, eyes wide, and there was that stark, human vulnerability again, a brief flash of self and longing.

"…this worthless one understands, mistress." It was barely more than a whisper.

"Good."

She stood up again. "Now, get some sleep. First thing in the morning, I want you to go to the bathhouse and give yourself a good scrubbing and a proper soak; Megumi says you should be up for more than a lick and promise, so it's time you did. Don't worry about the bandages – you're nearly healed as it is. I'll redo them if it's needed. And then…" she paused for a moment. She usually woke an hour or so after dawn and every day that he'd been here, he'd been awake before her. "If I'm not up by the time you're done, wait in the kitchen. We'll go over your duties there."

"Yes, mistress."

"Goodnight, Kenshin. I'll see you in the morning."

Kaoru left him without looking over her shoulder. She took a bath, and scrubbed until her skin was red and aching. She went into her room. She changed into her sleeping clothes. She got into bed. And then she stared at the ceiling for a long, long time, and did not weep.


	4. it comes with a price

**A/n: Well, I am both heartened and bewildered by the enthusiastic response this has received. I thought _for sure_ you all would prefer _Vaster Than Empires_. I guess we secretly all love watching Kenshin suffer. Thank you all for reading, and I hope you continue to enjoy my stories.**

**To address a question - the reverse-blade will not be making an appearance until the very end of the story. I will say no more than that.**

**In this chapter, it's time to play Spot The Terry Pratchett Reference! It's pretty obvious but I'm proud of it.**

* * *

When Kaoru went into the kitchen the next morning Kenshin was already kneeling by the stove, dressed in the clothing she'd given him last night. The wooden sword was tucked in his belt, and he'd pulled his hair up in a neat, high ponytail. It made his face sharp, and somehow cold.

He greeted her as he usually did, with a low bow and murmured "mistress." She stepped down from the dining room into the kitchen, stomach roiling.

"How are – " she started to ask, then stopped herself. "Let me see your wounds."

He shrugged off his top and stood for her inspection. She only needed a glance; he was healing nicely, and as long as he took it easy there was no danger of further damage.

"We don't need to bandage you up today," she said firmly. "Give things a chance to air out. Now, let me see... Kenshin, could you – no, wait, I'll do it. Can you get a fire going?"

"Yes, mistress." He pulled his top back on, then knelt and gathered a few logs of wood from the rack. She grabbed a bucket and headed for the well.

Yahiko was already there, dumping a cold bucket of water over himself and shivering. He'd been doing that religiously every morning since a month ago, when Sano had told him it would toughen him up.

"You're going to get sick again," Kaoru warned.

"S-shut up," he insisted through chattering teeth. "I'm n-not a little _kid_ anym-more. If S-sano can do it, then s-so can I!"

"Fine, don't listen to me," she said, lowering the bucket into the well. "Suffer. Maybe you'll learn something."

"Hey, Kaoru?" His voice was abruptly serious. The wind picked up slightly, carrying the hint of spring on its breath.

"Yes?"

"So… Kenshin's gonna be staying here a while, isn't he?"

Kaoru didn't answer him right away. She rested her hands on the edge of the well, gazing into the depths. Her reflection was a black smudge along the edge of the rim, shimmering and distorted, her face unclear.

"…did Megumi tell you anything when you walked her home last night?"

"Some." He scuffed at the ground, eyes fierce. "Like. That he _can't_ be free yet. So you have to – "

"_We_," Kaoru said firmly. "Have to help him learn. And it's going to be very strange for a while."

"Yeah, but, I mean…" Yahiko looked up her, finally, and scowled. "Megumi said you _took title_ on him."

He said the words like a curse, and Kaoru couldn't blame him. She _felt_ cursed. Her hands shook as she pulled the bucket back up from the well, shattering the wavering images.

"Yes," she said simply. "Megumi and Sano think that's best. So that no one else can try and – and take him."

"And they're _sure_ he can't be free?" Yahiko's voice was high as the child that he was, not his usual forced gruffness at all. She'd only heard him that way a few times, and always when he was on the very edge of breaking down. "They're _sure?_"

Kaoru pulled the bucket out and set it down, turning to face her student.

"You know that they are," she said quietly. "Otherwise they wouldn't have suggested it."

His clenched fist slammed into his thigh. She winced for him, for his shock at a world sent suddenly off-kilter, and wished there was another way.

"It's not _fair!_"

"Of course it's not!" Fury sparked in her breast, sudden and satisfying. "But it's the way things are. What am I supposed to do,_ leave_ him?"

"Yeah, I _know_ that!" Yahiko shouted back. "That doesn't mean I gotta like it any!"

"Oh, and you think _I_ do?" Kaoru crossed her arms over her chest, glaring down at him. "Do you think that I _enjoy_ having a _human being_ – behaving that way – towards _me_? Do you think I'm that much of a – "

She couldn't finish the sentence. Her throat closed and her eyes stung, and she turned abruptly away from Yahiko to pick up the water bucket. She couldn't blame him for thinking that she was a liar and a monster and hypocrite, not really.

"If _that's_ what you think, then go and live with Dr. Oguni," she said dully. It was an unfair thing to say; she knew that as soon as she said it. It wasn't Yahiko's fault. She _knew_ that. But she couldn't bear to be his punching bag this time, not in _this_, when his blows actually hurt. It said nothing good or kind about her that she could accept what she was doing.

She started to walk away.

A small hand grabbed her sleeve.

"That's _not_ what I think." Yahiko was glaring up at her, determined.

"Then what _do_ you think, Yahiko?" she demanded. But she didn't pull away.

"That…" He swallowed hard. "That I don't know what to do."

Kaoru knew her student. She knew what that cost him; and even if she hadn't known him, in all his stubborn pride, she would have been able to tell from the fear and anger in his eyes. Just like hers, she had to imagine.

"Well, I don't either," she said, more gently. She was the elder, she was the teacher, she had to be patient. It was important to remember that. "But I trust Megumi. Don't you?"

"…yeah."

He let go of her sleeve. Kaoru sighed.

"Truce?"

"Truce," Yahiko agreed. And then, quite unprompted, he took the water bucket from her and headed for the house.

"Come on, Ugly, I'm starving."

* * *

Kenshin was crouched in front of the fire under the stove, feeding it carefully. His eyes were fixed on the flames, watching them grow and dance as though they were some great mystery of the universe.

"How's the fire going?" she said briskly.

"The fire is ready, mistress," he said, taking a step backwards while still low to the ground, and imbuing what should have been awkward movement with effortless grace.

"Great. Thank you, Kenshin. Yahiko, just put the bucket down here, by the stove. Show Kenshin where we keep the miso and the rice, okay?"

Kaoru turned to the stove, hoisting the bucket up and pouring some of the well water into two pots. The rest she kept to clean the rice with before it was cooked. Behind her, she heard cupboards opening and Yahiko talking quietly to Kenshin.

"Yahiko, do you remember how to make miso?"

"Better then you," he retorted, and that bratty tone was back. She smiled a little.

"Okay then, master chef, you and Kenshin get started on that. I'll deal with the fish and the rice."

"Try not to turn it into charcoal this time."

"You're gonna regret saying that in an hour or so," Kaoru sing-songed, turning to face them both and twirling the ladle in her hand. "I've been thinking it's time you had a little hand-to-hand training, and this morning seems like the _perfect _time to start."

"I thought I was supposed to learn _swords_."

"The philosophy of the kamiya kasshin style is to protect yourself and those around you," she said, a bit smug. "You can't afford to be helpless just because you don't have a weapon."

"Just 'cause _you're_ stupid enough to get caught without one doesn't mean _I'll_ be." He crossed his arms. "_Ugly._"

And that, more than anything else, assured her that things were back to normal between them. Without missing a beat, she swept up a dried bean from the basket on the table and flicked it at him. It hit square in the middle of his forehead and he clasped his hand over the bump.

"That hurt!"

"_Manners_, brat."

"Yeah, yeah…"

She caught a glimpse of Kenshin watching them as he carefully strained rice through the leftover water. His eyes were wide; not frightened but – as though he was remembering something that he didn't quite want to. Then his gaze flicked towards her and his face was impassive again.

Rice was easy; all she had to do was put it in the pot and hope for the best. It was the fish that Kaoru was worried about. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't keep the heat even and they ended up scorched on one side and slightly undercooked on the other. Furthermore, she'd oversalted them. She tried to fix it by scraping the salt off and adding a little extra citrus, but that only made them salty _and_ sour. At that point she gave up.

"How's the miso going?" she asked, hoping that Yahiko had had better luck.

Yahiko was standing to one side of the stove, watching as Kenshin carefully stirred the miso. The rice was boiling softly, not overflowing as it generally did when she cooked it, and the smell wafting from the soup pot was delicate and savory instead of spicy or burnt. Or both.

"…that smells _amazing_," she said, surprised. "Yahiko, have you been taking lessons from Tsubame?"

He shook his head. "Nuh-uh. Kenshin's a really good cook."

"Kenshin?" He looked up when she said his name, expressionless eyes fixed on her with the calm focus of a well-trained dog. She suppressed a shudder.

"Yes, mistress?"

"Are you – do you already know how to cook?"

"A little, mistress."

"How much is a little?"

His shoulders stiffened a little. "This worthless one is capable of cooking most common dishes, mistress."

The sheer _weirdness_ of the situation overtook her and she had to stifle a hysterical giggle. It could have been a normal conversation – it was such a _normal_ thing for two new acquaintances to discuss as they cooked together for the first time – except there was nothing even remotely normal about it.

"That's good to know," she said finally. "It'll definitely be useful."

Kaoru turned and started dishing up breakfast. Three trays; she wasn't sure whether Kenshin should eat in the dining room or the kitchen. The table, she supposed, was right out. Too close to equality. Too close to being human.

Her lips twisted into a bitter grin, the same one she'd seen on Megumi too many times. She wondered, vaguely, if she'd ever be able to really smile again.

In the end, she simply gave him his tray and took her own, trying to act as though she expected him to know what to do. He went and knelt in a corner of the kitchen, near the entrance to the dining room. He didn't hesitate, as he had before, as though she was blocking off all his exits and he knew that anything he did would lead, inevitably, to pain.

She and Yahiko chatted lightly as they ate, about his job at the Akabeko, about Tsubame and Tae and swordsmanship. When they were done, she sent him to the training hall to warm up and gathered up the dishes. Kenshin had already washed his and set them out to dry. He was kneeling in the same spot by the dining room as she entered the kitchen, still as stone. Kaoru set the dishes in the sink and walked over to him.

"Kenshin?" Her stomach lurched. She swallowed down bile.

"Yes, mistress?"

"About your." Her throat was tight, and she could barely speak the words. "About your duties."

That subtle straightening, again. Kaoru cleared her throat, static filling her head as it had the night before, when she'd laid her claim on him like he was a dog or a plot of land.

_Say it. Just say it. Be as stone._

"I understand that you were a – guard, previously."

"Yes, mistress."

"Well, that's going to be one of your jobs here." It was something familiar, she'd reasoned as she'd stared at her ceiling last night. That was how she'd done it with Yahiko, and with the stray animals she sometimes took in: let them have things that they were used to, even if those things were strange. The only difference here was in the degree.

That, and the way her heart quailed in horror at thinking of it that way. A stray dog's need for an easy exit; a wounded cat's urge to hide; Yahiko's bad mouth and the food-hoarding he'd done for _months_ after she'd taken him in – those were all normal things, natural things, instinct designed to protect the small, frightened life inside those terribly fragile bodies. This… Kenshin had been _trained_ to this. This was not who he was. This wasn't about survival.

"I don't want you to kill anyone, though," she continued. "Which is why I didn't give you a steel blade. I don't use a steel sword, and neither does Yahiko – the Kamiya Kasshin style is the sword that _protects_ life. If you have to hurt someone, fine, but don't kill anyone – and try not to cripple them if you can possibly avoid it."

He seemed to tilt his head slightly. Or maybe it was only a trick of the light slanting in, shimmering in his auburn hair.

Kaoru took a deep breath.

"Yahiko and I train together in the morning. After lunch, he has a part-time job, and I either go to market or to teach at another school. When I'm gone, I want you to watch over the place. Sano and Megumi – you remember them?"

"Yes, mistress."

She went on. "They can come in whenever they want, and it's alright if they bring someone with them. And of course Yahiko lives here, as you know, so he can come and go as he pleases. Anyone else, just tell them that I'm not home, and take a message if they have one. You can tell them where I've gone, if they say it's important. When I'm home…"

This was the part she felt most ashamed of. But she hadn't lied to that awful grocery vendor, earlier: she desperately needed the help, and Megumi had said that a slave knew their only protection was their utility. That the more she could give him to do, the safer he would feel. It wasn't as though she was asking for anything she didn't normally ask of her lodgers – except that he couldn't refuse, and that was all the difference in the world.

"When I'm home, I want you to help me take care of the house. It's a little too big for me to look after by myself – we're always behind in the laundry and cleaning, and the garden is a _mess_. Yahiko tries, but he's… well, he's not very good at it. And last – "

She colored a bit.

"You're a better cook than me and Yahiko both," she said bluntly. "So I'd like you to take over meals, for the time being. Is that – I mean, do you understand?"

Because, of course, he couldn't say if it was alright or not.

He looked up at her for another one of those suspended moments, and her heart ached. It wasn't fair. It wasn't _fair_.

It was the way things were.

That wasn't an excuse.

But what else could she _do?_

"This worthless one understands, mistress."

"Good," she said, rubbing her hands together briskly and feeling as if she would never be clean again. "Let's get these dishes washed, then, and I'll help you start on the laundry."

* * *

Sano woke up with his face in a gutter, a splitting headache, and the taste of cheap sake fermenting in his mouth.

Mind you, it was hardly the first time.

He hauled himself up and sat morosely at the edge of the street, wiping his face with his sleeve. Since his sleeve was about as filthy as his face, this really only had the effect of transferring dirt from sleeve to face and vice versa, to broaden its horizons and allow it the chance to make new friends. Eventually he staggered to his feet and set off in the general direction of not-here, doing his best to avoid remembering why he had spent his first night home drinking and looking for a fight.

By the feel of his ribs, he'd found one. He should probably get that looked at.

_Where am I, anyway?_

Not far from the clinic. Might be a good idea to go get patched up before he went home to face the music. The angry, angry music. That Kaoru would play. On his skull.

So he lurched for the clinic, and hoped that Megumi would be out.

She wasn't.

Megumi took one look at him as he stumbled into the waiting room and grabbed his elbow, yanking him into a side room.

"You are a _disgrace_," she hissed, shoving hard against his chest. He went down without a fight. "How _dare_ you. You inconsiderate, _selfish_ – "

"Hey, hey!" he protested, raising his hands. "What the hell? What'd I do?"

Megumi always gave him shit when he went out on a bender, but this wasn't that. This was rage, real and pure and venomous, and it kind of made him want to either run screaming or pull her down on top of him and kiss her senseless. Except not that last one, not _ever_, because that would be the worst idea he'd ever had in a lifetime of terrible fucking ideas. He knew what she'd been through, dammit.

Didn't stop him wanting to, though.

"…are you _listening_ to me?" She crossed her arms over her chest and glowered down at him.

"Um…" he licked his lips, cringing. "…no?"

For a moment it looked as if she might explode; then, suddenly, all the fight went out of her.

"Oh, why do I bother?" she muttered. "Wait here. I'll see to you later. That's what you want, isn't it? To avoid going back to Kamiya's?"

"Avoid – ? Now, hold on!" Okay, so it was true, but she wasn't supposed to know that. "I ain't avoidin' anything!"

"Yes, you are. But I can't blame you for it; you're only a self-centered, chicken-headed manchild, after all."

"Oi!" He shot up onto his feet at that. "You wake up on the wrong side of the bed or somethin'?"

"_I_ woke up fully aware that Kamiya has just agreed to carry a greater burden than any of us had the right to ask of her. _You_ woke up drunk in a gutter. And _she_ woke up alone. But again – given what you are, I shouldn't expect too much from you. And Kamiya's strong; she'll get by without your support."

Sano's jaw dropped. Megumi raised her chin and glared at him, and he felt far too naked under her relentless gaze. His head hurt; his heart hurt; he thought of Kaoru waking that morning and knowing what she had just done, what she had become – a _slave owner_ – and having to face that knowledge completely alone.

He sat back down again, heavily.

"Aw, fuck. I'm an asshole." He buried his head in his hands.

"We've all noticed, Sagara." Megumi turned to leave. "Sit there and ponder it for a while, I have patients to see. When you're properly steeped, we'll all go over to the dojo – you, I, Dr. Oguni and the girls. She needs to know that she's not alone."

"Hey, Fox," Sano lay back down in an effort to ease the throbbing in his head. He studied the ceiling, examining the shadows cast by the late-morning night for patterns. "You're takin' Kaoru's side pretty strongly here. What gives?"

There was a long pause, and he thought for a moment that she had just walked away. It would be like her.

"That girl," Megumi said finally, "has taken one of my sins on her back. Since I couldn't stop her, the least I can do is give her my full support."

"Your sins…?" He wanted to look at her but knew that he shouldn't. Charging her head-on was the surest way to make her shy and run. "I thought the guy was long gone by the time you got involved."

"That's not what I mean."

"Then what do y'mean?"

She sighed. "It's no concern of yours. But I owe her, now."

"If you say so…" He closed his eyes. "I need t'tell you what Aoshi's report said. And the news from the big man himself."

"Later. In fact…" He heard her sigh again. "While you're contemplating your own idiocy, you should contemplate this, too: it's past time you brought Kamiya in on things. I know you have the discretion to add members, and she shouldn't be fumbling blind through this. Furthermore… that man… he's a powerful symbol, Sagara."

"I know." He knew too damn well. He knew it so well that he'd needed about two jugs of sake to drown the knowledge out. "I just… like you said. I keep usin' her. I don't wanna."

"Then stop. Tell her what she needs to know, so that she can choose."

It was his turn to sigh, deep and aching, from somewhere hollow that hadn't existed until he'd seen that – man, Kanryu's manslayer – kneeling on Kaoru's spare futon. Distorting the one place that all of the sickness had never managed to touch. Because he'd kept it that way. Because he'd _used_ her, and kept her ignorant, so that he could keep using her. Not just for the Cause, but for himself, so that he would have one place left that was clean…

"Yeah," he said. Megumi left, closing the door behind her.

* * *

Today had been a private-lesson day. Kaoru still had a few of those, little girls and young ladies whose parents wanted them to learn the basics of self-defense but didn't want them exposed to the rough-and-tumble male world of martial arts. There were some families that still believed a samurai woman had a duty to learn how to physically defend her home and person, although it had become somewhat unfashionable with the influx of Western customs.

They _were_ her students, and she _was_ grateful for it, but they weren't really students of her _style_. Samurai wives and daughters traditionally used glaives and daggers, not swords. Kamiya Kasshin encompassed several weapons beside the sword, of course – you can't always choose the tools available – but it was a sword style at heart. And none of the girls wanted to learn the sword, not even bright-eyed little Akane who loved weaponswork so.

_Swords are for __boys_, she'd explained solemnly, eyeing Kaoru under her mop of tangled bangs. _Boys don't like it when you're good at their things. And if boys don't like you, you'll __never__ get married._

That had hurt far more than Akane had intended, and Kaoru had dropped the subject.

The fact still remained, though: currently, the Kamiya Kasshin style had only one disciple and one assistant master. And the private lessons, however well they paid, only rubbed her nose in her failure to rebuild her father's school. If only he'd successfully promoted her to master before…

As if that would have helped. If she had been born a man, it wouldn't matter that her father had passed on before elevating her. But since she had been born a woman, she could have been an eighth-rank master for ten years when the style passed to her and it still wouldn't count for anything.

Kaoru kicked a rock into the river and felt a little bit better. Then she sighed heavily and threw herself down on the riverbank, wrapping her arms around her knees. The water rushed past, fierce with snowmelt and last night's rain. Sticks bobbed and whirled around patches of dancing foam. She picked up another stone and tossed it in, watching it sink without making even a single ripple.

Like her father's school.

…which she was _not_ going to rebuild if she sat around feeling sorry for herself.

And usually that thought was enough to get her on her feet again. Today, though…

She tilted her head up to the sky. It had been clear and bright today, but clouds were gathering on the horizon. It would rain again by nightfall, or earlier. The light was already changing.

Sano hadn't come home last night.

He _always_ spent his first night back at home, catching up. Always. She had been doing her best all day not to think about what his staying away might mean, and it had worked because there was so much else to do and there was always a chance he'd come slinking in like a scolded cat later on in the morning. There was always a chance that he'd been trying for considerate, in that backhanded way of his. Trying not to make a nuisance of himself at a difficult time.

But if that were the case, he'd have been home in the morning. And now it was midafternoon.

The wind was picking up. It was blowing the clouds towards the city; rain before nightfall was now virtually certain if the breeze didn't die down. It had been a dry winter, and the plants needed it. And she'd always liked the rain, liked the sound of it playing on the roof and the clean smell rising from the soil in the aftermath. Even the ozone-laced potential of a thunderstorm. She had spent every storm of her life kneeling wide-eyed on the porch, watching the lightning dance. She'd never feared them. In fact, her father had been hard-pressed to keep her from running out and dancing in them.

Maybe a storm would help her feel clean again.

It had been easier when Kenshin was injured and cringing. That, at least, she understood: pain and fear and giving a wounded creature space to nurse its wounds. Eventually they would calm down and heal and understand that they were safe. Except that he didn't – or if he did, she couldn't _see_ that he did. He had done everything asked of him without question or protest, and with the same expressionless face. If not for those occasional flickers, always of fear or confusion, she would think he wasn't human at all.

Kaoru closed her eyes and shivered in the crisp spring air. Her skin was going numb.

Then she jumped abruptly to her feet and stomped briskly, working some heat back into her limbs.

"Cheer _up_, Kaoru!" she said aloud. "You're committed now, so you have to make the best of it!"

And it would have sounded convincing if her voice hadn't broken halfway through.

* * *

Kenshin met her at the gate, blank-faced and submissive. He trailed her as she put her equipment away in the dojo, always two steps behind and one to the left, and would have followed her into her room if she hadn't told him firmly to stay in the hall. So he settled himself just outside her door, instead, and she changed as quickly and bashfully as if he had actually been in the room with her.

Her eyes strayed to the space she'd set up for him behind a screen, catty-cornered to her own futon and close to the door. Megumi's words echoed. _A beloved pet…_

Her palms stung. She looked at them, surprised, and saw blood welling up in eight crescent cuts. Her fingernails were faintly red.

"Mistress," Kenshin said flatly, from beyond the door. Kaoru tried for a smile, failed, and forced a neutral expression.

"Yes, Kenshin?"

"There are guests coming."

The gate bell rang. Not the dojo entrance, but the main gate. She smoothed her hands down over her clothing and checked her hair one last time before she went to see who it was. Kenshin followed her, bound by an invisible leash.

Her steps slowed as she reached the gate, suddenly uncertain. How would she explain? Kenshin – was what he was, there was no hiding it, and almost everyone she knew had abolitionist sympathies. She didn't think she could stand to see their faces when they realized. Not right now.

Maybe she should pretend she wasn't home.

"Hey, little lady! You home?"

"…Sano?"

Her heart swelled, quite suddenly, and she hurried the rest of the way to the gate. Kenshin got there first and opened it for her, one hand resting lightly on his wooden sword. It was Sano – and Megumi, and Dr. Gensai, and Ayame and Suzume. Her adopted brother met her eyes briefly, then looked quickly away. A faint wash of color reddened his face.

"Sorry I didn't come home last night, missy," he mumbled. "Got a little caught up."

And she should have been angry with him; she wanted to be. But in that particular moment, all she could be was inexpressibly glad that he didn't hate her.

"It's alright," she said simply. "Things have been strange."

He started to say something, but Megumi elbowed him.

"Big sister, big sister!" The girls ran up and hugged her around the legs, giggling. She bent down to ruffle their hair.

"Welcome, everyone," Kaoru said. "I'm so glad to see you – um…" She couldn't help glancing over at Kenshin. "As you can see, we have a new addition to the household…"

Dr. Gensai smiled reassuringly. "Megumi explained the situation to me, Kaoru, don't worry. I understand perfectly."

"…you do?"

"Oh, yes. There's virtue in showing kindness to strangers, after all, whatever form that kindness may take."

"…I see." She didn't see, actually, but Dr. Gensai had his cryptic-zen-master face on, and she wasn't going to get more than koans out of him for now.

Ayame and Suzume were eyeing Kenshin now, curious and shy. He stayed at his self-appointed place behind Kaoru's left shoulder.

"Big sister?" Ayame tugged on her sleeve. "Will big brother play with us?"

"Um…"

Megumi shook her head, once.

"Maybe later, okay?" Kaoru told them. They nodded, and Kaoru couldn't help glancing at Kenshin, again. His mouth was set in the same thin line as always, but his eyes… she couldn't _see_ his eyes. He'd inclined his head ever-so-slightly and his bangs had fallen over his face. What on earth could that mean?

"We thought we'd come over for dinner, to catch up. I'm sure that Sano's brought all kinds of exciting news from Kyoto," Dr. Gensai went on to say, cheerfully oblivious to the undercurrents. "If that's not too much of an imposition, of course."

"Oh – oh no, of course not!" Kaoru said, rallying. She even managed a shaky smile. "We'd love to have you stay. Yahiko should be back soon, if you don't mind waiting a little while…?"

"Not at all," Dr. Gensai said, stepping over the threshold. "Ayame, Suzume, come along now. Kaoru, dear, I think Dr. Takani and Sano had some things they wanted to discuss with you, so if you don't mind, that sunny spot on your porch is calling my name."

"Go right ahead, Doctor," Kaoru said, relaxing a little. "We'll be right there."

Kaoru watched as the doctor and his granddaughters vanished around the side of the house. Then she turned back to Sano and Megumi.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"Just some stuff." Sano rubbed the back of his neck. "But, like… just us, you know?" And he nodded towards Kenshin.

"Oh." Kaoru stepped away from Kenshin. "Kenshin, would you go and get started on dinner?"

He nodded, a little stiffly.

"…yes, mistress."

But she'd heard the catch in his voice before he responded, knew immediately that she'd done something wrong, and looked helplessly at Megumi. Megumi held out a basket.

"Here, Kaoru. We stopped by the market on the way here and picked up some mackerel. Do you think you can do anything with it?"

"Oh, how kind." She started to take the basket, confused; once again, Kenshin beat her to it. Megumi gave Kaoru a meaningful look, and that was when Kaoru figured it out. _Orders. He needs to know what to make._

"Kenshin, you can prepare this, right?"

"This worthless one is capable, mistress," he murmured. His grip on the basket was very tight.

"Alright, then!" Kaoru said, forcing cheer into her voice. "I'm sure you'll do a great job," she went on, and she saw Megumi frantically mouthing _no, no_ out of the corner of her eye. But she was babbling now, and couldn't seem to stop herself. "I'm really looking forward to it, okay? Do your best!"

He bowed to them all and left, and she was sure she wasn't imagining the extra tension in his gait. Behind her, Megumi sighed.

"Well, that's done it. You'd better love whatever he comes up with, Kamiya, or else he'll expect to be punished."

Kaoru whirled around, blood draining from her face. Megumi smirked at her, eyes alight with that strange, bitter humor.

"_What?_"

"Think about what you just told him," Megumi said simply. "And remember what he is."

Kaoru stared at her for a moment, running over what she'd said. She'd meant it to be encouraging. _I'm looking forward to it, do your best, I'm sure it'll be great…_

…and the first day he'd been here, when she'd asked if he _could_ sit up, and he'd taken it to mean that he _must_ sit up…

Kaoru buried her face in her hands and groaned.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, _yes._" Megumi was merciless, crossing her arms and staring down at Kaoru. "You have to be more self-aware, Kamiya."

"I'm sorry…" Her throat tightened.

"Don't apologize, just do better." She tossed her hair. "Anyway, Sagara has something to say to you."

Sano was watching them both with a look that hung halfway between outrage and confusion. He cleared his throat when Megumi cued him in, scratching again at his neck.

"Yeah, so, missy…" He took a deep breath. "Remember how yesterday I asked how involved d'you wanna be, and all that?"

Kaoru nodded.

"Well, it seems t'me that y'had a point. About you already being pretty dam involved, an' that means I've been lettin' you down, y'know? So…" He blew out air. "Figure it's time you got the proper briefing. As a member of the team. If you want."

And a day ago, she would have said yes without thinking. A day ago, so many things had still been theoretical: a day ago, she had still been convinced that there was some way to make things… not what they were. That an action taken with good intent could somehow avoid its natural consequence.

That was before she'd stood in front of a thinking, feeling human being and claimed him. Placed her mark on him, as if he were property – no. He _was_ property. Legally, socially, he was as much her possession as her home and clothing. She could do anything – beat him, starve him, maim and murder him – and he had no recourse. She held his entire being in her hands: her word was his gospel and his law, even when she didn't intend it to be.

All she had wanted was to be kind.

If she chose this, there would be a price.

_This I choose_, she thought vaguely, half-remembered words her father had spoken long and long ago. A kind of oath. _If there is a price, I choose to pay. Where this takes me, I choose to go. I choose. This I choose to do._

She had never really understood that passage in her father's teachings until now.

Kaoru straightened her shoulders.

"Let's go into the sitting room and talk."

* * *

After dinner, as everyone was settling onto the porch, Ayame stood in front of Kaoru and scuffed at the ground.

"Big sister? Can big brother play with us now?"

Kaoru glanced backwards, first at Megumi – who did not shake her head this time but watched Kaoru carefully, like an unusual specimen under her magnifying lens – and then at Kenshin, standing always nearby with his hand resting on his wooden sword. He hid his eyes again, but not quite fast enough. And there was something there, in that moment before his bangs came forward to shield him. Something like what had been there that morning as she and Yahiko squabbled: not fear or confusion or dread. A look of remembrance.

She made a decision.

"Alright," she said, sitting down on the edge of the porch. "But Kenshin was very badly hurt a little while ago, you understand? He's still recovering, so don't wear him out. Kenshin?"

"Mistress."

"Would you play with the girls for a little while?"

"…as you wish. Mistress."

And that was _different_. She shot Megumi a triumphant look; the doctor raised a single cynical eyebrow in return. Kenshin stepped off the porch. Ayame took one of his hands, Suzume grabbed the other, and the two of them led him off to play.

"Sano?" Kaoru asked as he sauntered out and leaned against a pillar. "Do we have anything else to talk about?"

They had talked until Yahiko came home; then they'd talked more, until Kenshin informed them blankly that dinner was ready. Sano had confirmed that he was the head of the Edo cell, which belonged to a resistance movement hailing from a province he couldn't name, except that it wasn't Kanto. Although the government tended to treat them as one and the same, there were several different movements hailing from different provinces, and for a long time they hadn't bothered to co-ordinate their efforts. That was changing, now. The head of Sano's group – _sorry, Missy, can't tell you his name. You know why_ – was reaching out to the others, trying to unite them so that they could come out of the shadows.

The plan, in short, was this: armed, open rebellion. Kaoru had stilled and gone very pale, and Sano had glanced helplessly at Megumi.

_There will be war_, Megumi had said, far too calmly. _It's unavoidable. However, whether it's long and bloody or relatively short… that's for us to determine, by the actions that we take now._

And she'd laid the part that the Edo cell played in that plan, which was all any of them needed to know.

Over the past year or so, the cell had been smuggling arms and allies into Edo. Meanwhile, their leader was working to form an alliance with the other provinces. Once they were ready, and all the various groups stood united, the Edo cell would fire the opening shot by attacking Kanryu, and hopefully take one of the major players at least partially off the board right as the war began. The alliance that Sano's superior (and god, that was a weird thought) needed, however, had suffered a setback, which had resulted in a delay.

_But_… she'd asked, bewildered by the sheer scope of it. _Megumi… I thought you were…_

_I am_. Megumi had folded her hands in her lap. _Kanryu… for the moment, he doesn't care what I do. Having escaped him, I'm not presently worth the resources required to drag me back. When I became involved in the cell last year, the belief was that we would be moving very shortly, but the delay… _

She had been very pale. Kaoru had ventured another question, quiet and almost afraid to ask.

…_How long?_

_I have a year,_ Megumi had said, face still and certain as the grave, full of a cold fire that Kaoru had never seen before. _However, a year in politics is a very long time._

There had been more after that, mostly a fuller account of the political maneuverings underlying the situation: of the alliance that had stumbled at the last moment and resulted in the current problem, of overseas support and the need to attack all of Kanryu's estates simultaneously, and the importance of taking out his primary residence in Edo above all.

_So, Sagara the rooster here actually has a fairly important job_, Megumi had commented dryly. _Imagine my surprise when I found out._

And Sano had protested that he was a perfectly reliable guy, thank you, at least when it was something that _mattered_. Megumi had scoffed and said something witty and derogatory, and they had gone back and forth and Kaoru had laughed until she wanted to cry because nothing and everything had changed.

But she _hadn't_ cried, because they had come to her as an adult and trusted her with an adult's secrets. And because she was a revolutionary now: a traitor plotting to overthrow the government by force. It didn't matter what she might or might not be called upon to do. She knew, and had no plans to tell. That would be enough to condemn her.

_Second thoughts, Kamiya?_ Megumi had asked her dryly, seeing her eyes glisten.

She'd glared back, setting her jaw like iron. _I've made my choice._

And Megumi had examined her nails carefully, raising one delicate eyebrow.

"Nah," Sano said, drawing Kaoru back to the present. "I figure we about covered things."

Dr. Gensai puttered out, holding a tray of sake cups and a few flasks.

"I knew that I remembered to put a jug in that basket before we left the clinic," he said triumphantly. "Let's have a drink, then, to celebrate another successful induction!"

Kaoru blinked.

"Dr. Gensai, you…?"

"Of course," he said, pouring Megumi a cup. "Why do you think I took in our Dr. Takani?"

For the first time, Sano poured Kaoru a cup of sake without prompting. She supposed that made her an adult now; not the act of drinking, but the respect inherent in the gesture. She took it from him and he ruffled her hair.

"Go easy on that now, missy. You make a mean drunk, if I remember right."

Still his little sister, after all. Just older, now. She smiled and took a sip, and the knot in her gut started to ease.

The girls' laughter drifted over from where they were playing. Kaoru watched them engage Kenshin in some sort of deceptively simple-looking game involving an inflatable ball and a numbered grid drawn in the dirt. He played with them with the same emotionless perfection that he did everything else.

She could see why Sano had been so frightened; she was a little unnerved herself, to think that he might slaughter men and cook breakfast and play with children with the same unblinking efficiency. As though each action carried an equal weight.

But she believed in what she had seen in his strange eyes: those few flashes of bewildered humanity she had startled from him.

Kenshin and the girls were playing over by the pond, in the shadow of the sole cherry tree. There were still clouds on the horizon, but the wind had died down in the past few hours and it looked like the rain, if it came, would come in the night or the early morning. For now the sky was still the clear, pale blue of early spring, and the air was crisp with a hint of impending storm. She took a deep breath and held it in her lungs.

"_Oi!_ Ugly!" Yahiko bounced a rice cracker off her head. "Quit woolgathering, willya? I asked you a question!"

If she was ever caught, Yahiko might be implicated as well…

Kaoru closed her eyes for a moment, a sudden pain stabbing into her heart. She hadn't even considered that. _Is that how it was for Sano, too?_

"What is it, Yahiko?" She plastered a smile on her face, determined not to let it drop for the rest of the evening. He eyed her warily.

"Hey, are you feelin' all right?"

"I'm fine." She reached over and patted his hand. "It's just been a _really_ long day. What was your question?"

"I asked if Kenshin's gonna be doing the cooking from now on."

She glanced reflexively at Kenshin, and hoped she wasn't imagining that he was holding himself a little less tightly.

"That's the plan," she said, trying to inject some cheer into her voice. "It's a lot easier than the two of us fighting it out every morning, don't you think?"

"It wouldn't be such a problem if you weren't such a lousy cook."

"Oh, because you do such a great job?" Despite everything that had happened, irritation flared in her. She nearly laughed: at least _everything_ hadn't changed. "Who was it that almost scorched a hole in my grandmother's best frying pan?"

"That was _one time!_" he protested. "It doesn't count! At least I don't undercook the rice!"

"No, you turn it into _rice pudding_."

Yahiko drew in breath for a retort, couldn't think of anything, and let it all out with a slow, blistering glare.

"…._ugly_," he muttered, and crossed his arms with true samurai _hauteur_, refusing to look at her.

Sano cracked up. Megumi hid a smile behind her hand, and Dr. Gensai shook his head.

"Such energy!" he said. "You two really have a wonderful relationship."

"That's one word for it," Sano commented, laying back on one elbow. He nudged Megumi and held out his empty cup. "Hey, Fox, fill me up?"

"After the state you were in this morning? Why should I encourage your delinquency, Sagara?"

"I've only had one cup, that's nothin' to a guy like me!"

They started sniping at each other with an easy camaraderie; Dr. Gensai tried to mediate with little success while Yahiko egged them on indiscriminately from the sidelines. Eventually Sano told him to keep his undergrown beak out of it. Yahiko tackled his hero in retaliation for implying that he was less than a full-grown man. The two of them wrestled their way off the porch and scuffled in the dirt, to Megumi's genuine amusement and poorly-feigned disgust. The girls kept playing with Kenshin. Kaoru's smile never faded.

The storm clouds lingered on the edges of the bright, achingly blue sky.

* * *

Before they went home, Megumi pulled Kaoru aside and warned her, again. _Kenshin's not Yahiko. You can't expect too much from him_.

And Kaoru had stared up at her, defiant for no reason other than her own instincts screaming out at her and crossed her arms. _Maybe you shouldn't expect so little._

Megumi had raised an eyebrow at her, again, and tossed her long black hair. But Kaoru could read her a little better now, and knew that it meant she was conceding the point. _We'll see_.

Ayame and Suzume had nearly wailed themselves hoarse when Dr. Gensai told them it was time to go. Only a promise that they could come back and play another time had silenced them; that, and Sano's offer of shoulder rides all the way home. Kaoru walked them to the gate, Kenshin trailing behind her as closely as her own shadow.

"Take care!" she said, waving goodbye. "Sano, I'm leaving the gate unlocked, so remember to lock it when you get back in, okay?"

"Got it, missy," he said, saluting. "I'll be back as soon as I see this lot home."

Normally, he wouldn't bother to reassure her. But these weren't normal times. Kaoru sighed heavily and closed the gate.

"…Mistress?" Kenshin's eyes were hidden again. His thumb brushed over the hilt of his sword.

"It's nothing. Just a long day."

Yahiko was sprawled on the porch, hands tucked behind his head. He'd eventually badgered his way into a few cups of sake and was well past tipsy – not that he cared. She nudged him with her foot.

"If you sleep out here, you'll catch a cold."

He raised his head and stared up at her with a muzzy dignity. "Yahiko Myojin is not sleeping. I'm merely watching the stars."

"Oh, is that so?" She bit back a smile. "Well, don't watch the stars too long. You don't want to be tired for practice in the morning, do you?"

"It takes more than a few measly drinks to knock out a samurai of Edo." He sat up and promptly knocked his shoulder into a pillar. "I could drink a hundred jars and still be ready to go in the morning."

"I'm sure. But why don't you go to your room anyway? Otherwise Sano might step on you in the dark when he gets back."

"That's true." He stumbled to his feet, wavered for a moment, and then found his balance. "Um. Kaoru?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry about this morning."

She blinked back a sudden surge of tears, and knew her shoulders had trembled for a moment. In all the time he'd been with her, Yahiko had never once told her that he was sorry, for anything. He'd apologized in other ways, with actions and decisions, but he'd never said the words. He'd always been too scared to show her that much underbelly.

It took her a moment to compose herself enough to speak clearly around the lump in her throat. She would not to shame his courage.

"It's already forgotten, Yahiko."

"'kay. G'night, Ugly."

"Sleep well, brat."

He stumbled off to bed, yawning.

Kaoru continued to her own room, pulse pounding hard in her ears. Kenshin followed behind her, quiet as a cat, and despite her best efforts she felt a hot blush creeping up her face. Of all the benightedly childish things – given the circumstances – it wasn't as if he was her _lover!_

But he was still a man. And a part of her reasoned, quietly, that if she thought otherwise – if she decided that it didn't matter because of his condition – that was only a semantic quibble away from saying that it didn't matter because he was only a slave, and slaves aren't people.

So she would just have to be embarrassed.

As she entered her room, she pointed to the pile of bedding behind the screen.

"You'll sleep there. But first I need to change, so stay out here until I let you in."

Kenshin took an obedient step backwards, turned, and knelt on the floor before her room in one graceful motion. As he did so, she got a good look at his ponytail for the first time and noticed that his hair was badly tangled. It would mat up soon, if it wasn't brushed. Had he not taken care of it?

Then it occurred to her: there was no hairbrush in the bathhouse, and she hadn't told him to find and use one.

Kaoru smacked herself on the forehead, sheer _annoyance_ cutting through the fog of embarrassment and angst. _You have to be more self-aware, Kamiya._ Thank you, Megumi, for the understatement of the year.

She closed the door, firmly, and changed in record time. Then she picked up her hairbrush and looked at it for a long moment.

_You have to learn to speak his language_.

Rules, obedience, punishment, reward.

"Kenshin," she called softly. "You can come in now."

Kenshin ghosted in and closed the door behind him, eyes cast carefully down. As they always were.

"Come here."

He saw the brush in her hand and his shoulders tensed, but he came and knelt before her with that heart-stopping grace nonetheless. His fingertips brushed the floor as he bowed, and there was something conciliatory in the lines of his body. Like he expected… something. Something unpleasant.

"Turn around, please."

She saw him swallow, hard, and had to clench her fist hard around the brush's handle. He turned, bracing himself for – whatever it was he had been taught to expect.

Kaoru took a deep breath and drew the tie out of his hair. He started, pulling away, and she stopped.

"I'm sorry," she said, hardly daring to breath as he caught himself and forced his head back to where it had been, frozen like a rabbit in a hawk's gaze. "Did I pull your hair?"

"...no, Mistress," he said quietly, and he was _almost_ shaking.

"Good," she said firmly, but took a hank of his hair in her hand before she began to brush, to make sure that she wouldn't.

His hair was fine and soft, like silk strands against her fingers, and she worked gently at the knots and snarls. It was slow going at first, and every time she thought she'd gotten them all, she tried to run the brush all the way through and found more. But eventually they were all untangled and she was sliding the bristles easily through his hair, in an almost meditative rhythm.

Kenshin had gone as still as the birds at her feeder did when she stepped outside each morning.

She found herself wondering if anyone had ever done this for him before, and wishing that they hadn't. That he could have at least one thing that wasn't associated with horror. Just one clean thing.

_If I can do nothing else, let me give him one clean thing._

"There," she said finally, setting aside the brush and running her fingers fully through his hair, top to bottom, and then pulling it back in a quick, loose braid that sat at the nape of his neck. His hair was almost as long as hers, and this would keep it from tangling overnight.

He turned to face her automatically. The new hairstyle framed his face differently, softened the lines and made him less fearsome.

"Thank you," she said. "Dinner really was lovely. And Ayame and Suzume loved playing with you. You did very well with them."

He bowed, acknowledging her praise. And fearing it.

"There's a futon for you behind the screen," she said, pointing towards it. "You'll sleep in here, now. I – I'm told that's custom."

She said that for her own benefit, and for the sake of some distant, impossible future when he might be whole again, and remember. He bowed once more and went behind the screen. Kaoru climbed into her own bed and curled into a ball under the covers, listening to him breathe.

When she woke up the next morning he had already gone to cook breakfast. The bedding was untouched.


	5. the bargain must be made

**A/n: Well, I put it off for as long as I could... but heeeeeeere's the plot! **

**And hey guess what? theDah made me FANARTS. She's been illustrating scenes from all of my fics at a rapid clip, and you should all go look at them. Links are in my profile.**

**Everyone should make me fanarts, they make me super happy.**

**I'd like to take this moment, actually, to thank everyone who's been supporting both of my stories, and even those who are only supporting one. I know I don't respond to reviews that much, but I read them over and over again. They mean a lot to me, and I treasure every single one of them. You guys are the reason I'm writing. So, thank you all very much. /bows**

* * *

Yahiko glanced uneasily behind him as he walked to market with Kaoru. Kenshin was still there, two steps behind Kaoru and one to her left. No hint of emotion in his face, no flicker of thought in his eyes. He walked with an even gait, slowing down or speeding up as Kaoru did, and kept the exact same distance between them, always. Two steps behind her and one to her left.

Three weeks had passed since Kaoru had half-carried him home; two weeks since she'd taken title on him – a thought that still felt like ashes and bile – and this was Kenshin's first time out of the house. Kaoru claimed it was out of worry for his health, but Yahiko was certain it had more to do with shame.

_And she __should__ be ashamed_, he thought furiously, before guilt had time to stab into him. _Just 'cause it's the least bad option doesn't mean it's __right_.

He looked up at his teacher. She was pale, and her face was slightly drawn; there were shadows under her eyes. Then she noticed him watching and smiled a little too brightly.

"Isn't it a nice day, Yahiko?" she chirped. "Maybe we should go to the Akabeko for lunch?"

"Uh… yeah," he muttered, shame squirming in his stomach like a badly-digested meal. He knew that she knew what he knew, that good intentions were no excuse for what she had become, and he knew that she wasn't sleeping well. Hell, he'd have known it even if he didn't wake up almost every night to the sound of her pacing restlessly through the house and garden. She kept getting distracted, lately, staring off into space, and her throwing arm wasn't nearly as strong as it used to be. It was harder and harder to get a rise out of her.

And it would be great if he could blame Kenshin for it, but he couldn't because it wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault – no, that wasn't true, it was _Kanryu's_ fault, but he might as well declare a vendetta on Mt. Fuji for all the good it would do him. At least he could walk to Fuji and kick a few rocks to get it out of his system. There was no chance of a branded street rat like him getting close enough to Kanryu's estate to even spit on the door.

If he was older, maybe. If he was _stronger._

"…maybe we shouldn't go to the Akabeko," Kaoru said, sighing. "We have to be more budget-conscious, now."

"Or maybe you shouldn't eat so much," he sneered, hoping – although he'd never admit it – that she'd smack him or start chasing him or _something_. Something _normal._

Instead she ruffled his hair idly, pulling his head briefly against her side. Annoying and embarrassing, but still more of an embrace than anything else.

"Watch your mouth, brat," she said absently. "I'm still your teacher."

He pulled away, brushing his hair back into position, and didn't say the natural comeback – _only because I feel sorry for you_ – because he'd overheard her last night, when she'd lost her temper for a moment and Kenshin had cowered at her feet. Yahiko wasn't even sure what had set her off: he'd only just been coming into the dining room when he'd heard her voice raise, sharp and exasperated and sounding more like herself than she had in days. When he'd looked into the kitchen Kenshin had already been on his knees, face pressed against the dirt floor, and Kaoru had been standing in front of him with her arms tight across her chest as she was trying to hold something in.

When he'd gone to bug her to get out of the bath, he'd heard her crying and decided to just go without for the evening.

"You're probably right," he groused. "Maybe I should be working instead of eating."

"Isn't it your day off?"

"Well, yeah, but it's not like I've got anything better to do. And a warrior shouldn't shrink from hard work." Tsubame would be working today, too. Which didn't matter to him at all, of course. It was kind of nice that she liked seeing him, though.

"Hmm. Well. I don't suppose I really need you to help me with the groceries anymore, do I?" Kaoru smiled down at him, and this one wasn't so strained. "I'm sure Tsubame will be happy to see you."

"That's got nothin' to do with it," he protested, annoyed. So like a girl to try and stick romance into everything. Tsubame _was_ kind of cute, but he didn't have time for that right now. "I'm just trying to help out."

"I know," she said, sounding genuinely cheerful. "And I appreciate it, really. But you should have some fun, too."

Yahiko crossed his arms and scowled. "I have plenty of fun. I'm not a little kid, Kaoru, don't pat me on the head and tell me to run along and play."

She wouldn't tell _Sano_ not to worry about things. He wasn't any less a man than Sano was. So why was she always trying to protect him?

"Maybe I'm not as good as Sano yet," he said, scuffing a foot in the dirt. "But I can still help."

"You're not useless, Yahiko." Kaoru looked gravely at him. "Really. I just don't want anyone else to have to – "

"Don't be selfish." His face heated. "It's my home too, y'know."

"…I know."

They had stopped walking at some point in the conversation. Kenshin had stopped with them. Kaoru glanced at him, and her eyes shaded in that way they'd done recently – like she was going someplace where no one could find her until she was ready to be found. Then she looked back to Yahiko.

"It's always going to be your home, Yahiko. You understand that, right?" And her voice was far, far too gentle.

"Of course I do! I'm not an idiot!" But something in his chest eased anyway, leaving a hollow, sad place behind. He turned and started walking away. "I won't go, then, if it's so important to you. C'mon. If we don't hurry, there won't be anything fresh left."

"Alright, alright," she said, and hurried to catch up with him.

* * *

Yahiko started regretting his decision as soon as they made it to market. Today was a bulk-purchase day. There were a lot of heavy things. And he while would grudgingly admit that even Kaoru had her good points, tactical grocery shopping wasn't one of them. She _never_ remembered to get the heavy stuff last, and when he pointed out that it was smarter to do it that way she _always_ had some reason why they couldn't or shouldn't and she'd do that girl thing where she talked so fast that he ended circling around and suggesting the very thing he was trying to get her not to do.

His load wasn't as heavy as it normally was, but he couldn't even be pleased about that, because the reason it wasn't as heavy was that Kenshin was there, also, and Kenshin had to be given something to do. Otherwise people would notice. And – Megumi had explained this to him already, but Kaoru kept repeating it and he knew it was for her own sake as much as his – he had to be given things to do, otherwise he wouldn't feel safe.

Yahiko understood that much. He thought maybe he understood better than Kaoru did, what it was to _not know_ why someone wanted you around. There were a lot of a reasons a person might take in someone as worthless as an abandoned slave or a three-times-thief, might spend the time and energy feeding them up and getting them nice clothing and healing their wounds. And when you'd lived your life knowing exactly how little you mattered, your first thought wasn't going to be that they were doing it out of the goodness of their hearts. His certainly hadn't been.

It was just – frustrating, to have to watch his own thoughts so carefully, and then end up feeling guilty for the frustration because _none of this was Kenshin's fault_. Or Kaoru's, or Sano's, or his own, or even Megumi's. He kept coming back to that – how it wasn't anyone's _fault_, except the one person whom he couldn't touch. It ran around and around in his head like the refrain of some stupid song: _there's nothing you can do about it, nothing at all, nothing nothing nothing, helpless powerless weak_ –

Just like when mom and dad died, and the creditors had taken everything, and he'd wanted _so badly_ to refuse the clothing that he'd been _given_, out of _pity_, but he'd known better. So he'd let the woman chuck him under the chin and tell him to _try his best, don't give up_ and throw him out on the street and not protested, because you had to take what you could get.

He growled to himself and shifted the pole on his shoulder, looking back at Kenshin. The – former? Current? Technically-but-not-in-the-ways-that-counted-except-maybe-he-was? – slave was still following behind Kaoru, still blank as he carried the baskets she had given him. He hadn't protested or given any sign that it was too much weight, but she kept checking. It was comforting, in a way; even after two weeks had passed, she hadn't relaxed into her new status.

Maybe they'd get through this after all.

Against his will, he remembered Megumi's words. _She might never be able to let him go, Yahiko_ – he'd never seen her eyes so grave and terrible – _he might need to stay with her for the rest of his life. _

_Does she know that?_ he'd asked, shaking.

_Yes._ Megumi had looked away, then. _You know her, Myojin. She won't give up on him, not now. No matter how bad it gets._

And he'd thought to himself: _so I'll have to be strong for her, for my home, starting now_.

He just couldn't help wishing that strong wasn't so damn hard to reconcile with the hissing hatred that accompanied any thought of _slaveowner_, even when the person he was thinking about was the closest thing he had to a family.

"Well, that's it!" Kaoru said, brushing her hands briskly together. "I guess we should get back home!"

"Huh?" He looked around. "Did we get the vegetables already?"

Kaoru's smile faltered. "Oh – no, no, we didn't. I suppose we should."

But she didn't move.

"…what's wrong?" He adjusted the barrels again, squinting up to her in the bright afternoon light. "Kaoru?"

"Nothing," she said after a pause that went on a little too long. "Let's go, Yahiko."

She almost walked right past her usual vendor; he had to call out to her and wave before she noticed. He was an older man, a widower, and he relied on his house-slave to help around the shop. Kaoru didn't like to buy from vendors who owned slaves, but most of them did and the dojo didn't bring in enough money that they could afford to get too picky.

_Why is it easier to accept that then it is to accept Kenshin?_

The old man smiled as Kaoru approached. Yahiko could swear there was a hitch in her step.

"Well!" he said jovially, nodding towards Kenshin. "I see you've bought your slave."

"Oh – um – yes." Kaoru's fingers twisted nervously in her kimono. "This is Kenshin…"

The old man looked Kenshin up and down like a prospective buyer inspecting a likely draft horse. Yahiko's eyes narrowed.

"He doesn't look like much. Awfully pretty, though, which I suppose might turn a girl's head," the vendor said. "He's a guard, you say?"

"Yes." Kaoru's hands started shaking and she hid them in her sleeves. "Excuse me, but we are in a bit of a hurry…"

"There's no rush, little lady, didn't you want my advice earlier?"

Yahiko almost snarled. What did he mean, _advice?_

"…I did," Kaoru said, reluctantly, coloring a little. The old man patted her on the shoulder in a grandfatherly way.

"No need to be shy. I remember the first slave I bought on my own, good hard worker he was. Wish I'd had someone to set me straight in those days, I let him get away with a lot more than I should have, let me tell you! Well, it all worked out in the end, anyway. Now, how does he run? Obedient? Does exactly what you say? You've got to watch out for when they start taking liberties, you know, even helpful ones. Sometimes it means they're just real loyal, but most times it leads to 'em getting ideas above their station – "

Kaoru looked like she was going to be sick. The vendor ignored her and prattled on, and finally Yahiko had had enough.

"Hey, _teacher!_" he said, tossing his bangs out of his eyes. "You can do this later, _okay?_ I wanna get back and learn that kata you've been promising!"

"Yahiko!" She glared down at him, but there was relief in her eyes. "Don't be rude!"

"And who's this?" The old man peered down at him. Yahiko flashed his toothiest merry-little-scamp grin up at the vendor, jerking his thumb towards his chest and knowing that there was no way the old fart would pick up on the rage seething in his veins.

"I'm Yahiko Myojin," he said, "and I'm Kaoru's best student."

"I see. Well, well. I suppose you're the reason she's always buying so much food, aren't you? I remember how much my sons ate when they were your age."

"Hey, I gotta eat a lot. Otherwise I won't be strong. But anyway, teach," he said, "I wanna go back and train. Can't you do this later?"

"Awfully straightforward, isn't he?" The old man chuckled. "I hope you take a firmer hand with your slave than with your students, little miss."

"He's just very energetic," Kaoru said with a thin smile and quick, grateful look at Yahiko. "But he actually has a point. There's a kata I've been promising to teach him, now that he's learned the move it uses, and I've been _really_ distracted lately with settling Kenshin and all. So I'm terribly sorry to be rude, but we really will have to do this later."

There was no kata, of course. But an excuse was an excuse, and the old man let them buy their vegetables and go without inflicting further advice on them.

"What was that all about?" he asked Kaoru as they walked away. She was trembling a little.

"Oh, Yahiko, it's nothing – just a stupid idea I had, before Megumi agreed to help, about trying to figure out how slaves were treated – I'm sorry. Yahiko, Kenshin, I'm really sorry. We're going to have a find a new vegetable seller, I think. Excuse me, I need to sit down…"

They found a bench nearby and Kaoru settled onto it with a sigh. Kenshin stood beside her; Yahiko hopped up to sit next to her.

"Kenshin, put those down for a while," Kaoru said, rubbing at her temples. "Rest a bit."

He knelt on the ground, arranging his baskets neatly beside him. Kaoru looked at him, clearly considering telling him to sit on the bench.

"…oh, what's the _point?_" she whispered, so softly that Yahiko almost didn't hear it, and buried her face in her hands.

Yahiko kicked idly at the pole resting across the top of the rice and miso barrels, watching it roll back and forth, and wished there was something he could say. Sano would know what to do: Sano would have a joke, or a sly comment, something vulgar about the vegetable seller's bald head or wrinkles or _something_, and it would probably be dumb but it'd be the kind of dumb that you laughed at anyway. He'd be able to cheer Kaoru up, to break past the wall she'd put around herself. She _trusted_ Sano – no, that wasn't fair. She trusted Yahiko, too, but…

Sano was older. Sano was stronger. Sano made her feel _safe._

And at the end of the day, Yahiko was still just a kid.

So he sat silently, kid that he was, and waited for her to pull herself together. Kenshin knelt motionless at her knee, ponytail draping over his shoulder. He really didn't look like much, folded in on himself in Kaoru's shadow. When he moved, though… Yahiko was still new to swordsmanship, but even he could see Kenshin's power and agility. He'd have known that Kenshin was a master even if Megumi hadn't told him some of his history.

Which made Kenshin's utter submission even worse.

Kenshin was _strong_. He'd been strong and he had still been broken; he'd been strong and _this_ had still happened to him. And if being strong wasn't enough to stop bad things from happening, what was the _point?_

Yahiko tore his eyes away and watched the people passing by, trying not to dwell on it. A cluster of girls, giggling and swinging brightly-painted parasols; a mobile steamed-yam seller, pushing his cart along and calling out for customers; a gang of work-slaves led by their overseer, carrying bundles of bamboo and lumber on their shoulders. Business as usual. Every now and then a rickshaw would pelt by, carrying older couples or women with large packages.

A carriage came up the road. He assessed it automatically: very western, garish but expensively so. An elaborate crest he didn't recognize on the door, and team of decently-matched horses in so-so condition. As it got closer he could see that the coach was bright with paint and still shone like new, so either whoever owned it cared more about their carriage than they did their horses or the carriage itself was new. Probably the latter.

Almost no one in their neighborhood could afford a carriage, so they were probably some recently-wealthy merchant come to do business, especially since they were headed for the market. He dismissed it as irrelevant and was just about to suggest to Kaoru that it was time to head home when he realized that the carriage had stopped across the street, right in front of them.

"Hey, Kaoru," he said, nudging her.

She looked up.

The coach driver hopped down from his perch and opened the door, unfolding a little step, and then stood back. He had a cross carved into his cheek. Yahiko bristled.

Kenshin stayed where he was.

A small, middle-aged man emerged from the shadows of the coach. His clothing, like his carriage, was fine but gaudy and very new. He was soft and fat with too much rich food and not enough exercise, and his face was fixed in a grin that Yahiko knew entirely too well; the grin of a wolf ready to scam a sheep. This was trouble.

"Kaoru, we should go." He hopped off the bench, tugging at her sleeve, and put all the urgency that he could in his voice.

"What?" She glanced over at him, then at the short, fat predator coming towards them. "What's wrong?"

"I've just got a bad feeling, okay? We shouldn't talk to this guy."

"What do you mean…?"

But the fat creep was already at their bench.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Kamiya," he said unctuously, bowing far too deeply – deeply enough that it almost went past courtesy and straight into bald mockery. "Do forgive the imposition, but I was hoping I might ask for a moment of your time."

"My time…?" She blinked, and Yahiko interposed himself between her and the fat man. Kaoru was in no shape for this, not with that dazed look in her eyes.

"Hey, now's not a good time," he lied. "She's feeling kinda sick, okay? We're actually heading to the doctor's – if you don't wanna catch what she's got, you should come back later."

"My name is Kihei Hiruma," the creep said, smiling in a way that was meant to be ingratiating and ignoring Yahiko entirely. "And I understand that you recently acquired a fine specimen of Takeda Kanryu's earliest work – I believe that's him, in fact." He gestured towards Kenshin. "I was hoping that you might be persuaded to part with the piece – for adequate compensation, of course."

Kaoru stared at him for a long, terrible moment, long enough that Yahiko thought she might not be _able_ to respond. Then the fog in her eyes cleared, her spine snapped straight, and she was herself again, with no trace of the fainting flower.

"Absolutely not," she bit out. "Kenshin is _not_ for sale."

"I must ask you to reconsider," Kihei said, wringing his hands with a look of cloying concern. "Whoever sold him to you must not have been clear – he's rather badly damaged, far too much so for someone as young and inexperienced as yourself. Really, he's only of any interest to collectors; he's nearly useless for normal duties. But I'm more than willing to pay whatever his purchase price was, and a little extra for your trouble. Say, half again the original price?"

"I didn't _pay_ anything," she said. Her hand came down to rest on the top of Kenshin's head, gently possessive. Yahiko frowned and looked a little closer. Kenshin was gripping her skirt with one hand, hidden from view by the fall of his sleeve and Kaoru's legs. His knuckles were white.

"Kenshin was abandoned," Kaoru continued, icily enough to give Megumi a run for her money. "I found him and held him for three days, as the law requires. His former owner did not seek to re-establish his claim, so I took title. He is _mine_, and he is _not for sale._ At any price."

She took a deep breath. "Now, excuse me, Mr. Hiruma, but I must be getting home. Kenshin, Yahiko, come along."

Kaoru stood. Kenshin gathered up the baskets and stood with her. Yahiko quickly picked up his own burdens, heart hammering in his chest. The sooner they could be away from this man, the better. He smelled like rancid perfume.

"Are you sure I can't change your mind?" Kihei asked, too sweetly.

"Absolutely."

Kaoru walked off, Kenshin in his place behind her. Yahiko followed them. As he did, he looked back over his shoulder and caught Kihei's smile transforming into a furious snarl.

* * *

They walked back home in silence. Kaoru was lost in thought again, and Yahiko couldn't think of anything to say. Kenshin, of course, never spoke unless spoken to. Yahiko trailed a little bit behind the two of them, keeping an eye out, and it seemed to him that Kenshin was walking with a touch of hesitancy in his step. His eyes were downcast like they always were, but his head was bowed a little, too, and his eyes were almost hidden behind his bangs.

He wondered if Kaoru had noticed.

When they got home she sighed heavily and stretched as though she'd just put down a great weight.

"Well, I think I'm going to change and get some training in. Yahiko, put the groceries away and help Kenshin get started on dinner, okay?"

"Sure." Yahiko started towards the kitchen, knowing that Kenshin would follow.

"Kenshin, wait just a second?"

Yahiko turned around, curious. Kenshin had paused obediently in his tracks, face perfectly blank. Now he bowed his head further and faced her, and Yahiko thought his grip on the baskets tightened a little.

"Kenshin, look at me," Kaoru said softly. Her hand twitched like she wanted to reach out to him but didn't quite dare. "Please?"

As if he could refuse. Yahiko's throat closed in anger as Kenshin lifted his head, letting his bangs fall out of his eyes. He had a sudden sense of trespassing on something not his business, something cloistered and secret and shameful, and had to fight the urge to look away.

Come to think of it, he wasn't sure why he was fighting the urge – except that he wanted to be sure of… something he didn't quite have a name for.

"I'm not going to sell you, Kenshin." Kaoru was looking deep into his eyes, as if she was trying to read something hidden there, or convince him of something written in hers. "I promised you that this was your home forever, now, no matter what, and I always keep my promises. There's nothing that could ever happen that would make me sell you. So don't worry, okay?"

She searched his face. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, mistress."

Which he would have said even if he didn't understand. Even if he didn't believe. And by the wry, pained look on her face, Kaoru knew it too.

"Alright. Go on, then, I'll be in the training hall."

Another murmured _yes, mistress_; then she was heading for her room and he was walking towards the kitchen and Yahiko had to scramble for a moment to keep up.

"She's telling the truth, you know," he said as they got to the kitchen, not entirely sure why he was saying it. "Really."

Kenshin seemed to hesitate for a moment as he unloaded his groceries. Yahiko slid the pole off his shoulders and started pushing the miso barrel into its proper place.

"Like I said before – " he grunted a little " – I know she's a pain, but she doesn't break her promises."

Suddenly there was no more barrel and he pitched forward, catching himself just in time. Kenshin had lifted the barrel up and was carrying it over to the pantry.

"…yeah, maybe I should let you do the heavy stuff," Yahiko muttered, and hopped up onto a stool to sort through the lighter goods.

They worked quickly – at least Kenshin did – and in a silence that would have been peaceful if Yahiko could've managed to forget the circumstances. He'd avoided spending time with Kenshin for exactly that reason: it was scary, thinking about what he was and what he'd made Kaoru, who never knew when to give up.

'Course, if she'd known when to give up he might not be here, in the warm, with a full belly and a future. But he shoved that thought away as soon as it arrived.

Kaoru had said to help Kenshin. This seemed to translate, once the groceries were put away, to Yahiko sitting idle and watching while Kenshin cooked dinner with effortless grace and absolutely no emotion. He'd offered help, but all he'd gotten was _this worthless one requires no assistance_ and his stomach shriveled in on itself when he tried to talk to him the way Kaoru did, like an endless game of twenty freakin' questions.

He sighed. Kenshin paused as he was chopping up spring onions for the miso.

"Hey, Kenshin?"

"Yes, young master?" Kenshin put the knife down and turned to face Yahiko, hands falling to his side.

"What are you making, exactly?"

"This worthless one is preparing miso, rice, pickled radish, and grilled fish."

A normal, simple dinner. Yahiko scratched the back of his head.

"Will ya let me chop the vegetables, at least? I mean, I know you don't need it and all, but Kaoru told me to help out and I feel lousy just sitting here."

That wasn't how Kaoru would have said it. It probably wasn't the way Megumi would have told him to say it. But he didn't _want_ to do what they said, not with this. He understood the reasons and he trusted his teacher and the lady doctor, but – it just didn't sit right with him. How could treating him like a slave help him not be one anymore?

Kenshin stood aside and let Yahiko take his place at the cutting board. He started chopping while Kenshin began to stoke the fire for grilling the fish. It was a still a touch too cold to grill outside; in a few weeks, though, Kaoru would probably start insisting on eating outdoors at least a few days a week.

Yahiko said as much, for lack of anything else to do. Kenshin didn't respond, but Yahiko didn't see him shying away, either. He had a way of collapsing in on himself, sometimes, like a stray dog trying to will himself invisible.

So Yahiko kept talking, about stupid things like his job at the Akabeko and his lessons with Kaoru and the story about Why Sano Doesn't Fish and the one time Kaoru and Tae had tried to make a Western dish called a _suufure_ and coated the kitchen in flour and egg whites. He talked because it was better than dealing with Kenshin's tense, subservient silence, and because as long as he was talking he could pretend there was something normal about this, and that Kenshin was just an unusually quiet houseguest.

Dinner was ready right as he was starting to get tired of talking, and he cut Kenshin off as he went to leave the kitchen.

"I'll get Kaoru, okay? You just get everything set up."

"Yes, young master," Kenshin said obediently, settling the various dishes on their trays.

It was a very clear evening, one of those times when you can pretty much see forever. The sun was hovering on the horizon like a bronze disc, and stars were already starting to come out. The green smell of new growth hovered in the air and Yahiko sucked it in until he felt his lungs would burst.

He didn't hear the usual sounds of Kaoru doing her kata: the swish of her wooden sword and the piercing battle cry that – although he would never in a million _years_ cop to it – sent a little thrill of fright down his spine. So he paused a second before he went in, peering through the slight crack in the door in case she was meditating or something.

She was kneeling in front of the shrine that held her father's sealed sword, but she wasn't meditating. Her shoulders were shaking a little.

"…father," he heard her say, and realized that he definitely should not be watching this.

But he stayed anyway.

"I'm sorry. I – I don't know what to do. I promised you that I'd be strong, and I'd carry the sword that protects, and I thought I could do it, but – what if it's not enough? What if I'm not…?"

She paused, as if to breathe.

"…Yahiko's so confused, and I don't know what to tell him. I'm his _teacher_ and I don't have the answers. Sano's hurting, and it's not his fault but he won't believe it. Megumi is – I never realized how much she's carrying, and I never did a single thing to help her, because I never _looked_. And Kenshin…"

Her head bowed.

"What if he's never any better than he is now? It's only been two weeks, I shouldn't expect miracles but – he was doing so well until last night. Until I snapped at him – and then that awful man in the market – and what if it's not enough, father? What if I'm not _good_ enough? I'm the heir to the Kamiya Kasshin style, and I can't even keep my lousy stupid _temper._ "

She wiped furiously at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Maybe I _am_ being too hard on myself," she said after a moment. "But that's not an excuse. Megumi's right. I'm so selfish; I've always been able to apologize and make things right again, but it's not that simple anymore, is it? Not when I'm dealing with Kenshin. So I just have to – I have to be better. I took this on, I can't give up now. I just – I just can't afford to be a little girl anymore, even in small things, can I?"

There was a lump in Yahiko's throat that he couldn't quite swallow down. There was something he could do, he knew it, he just wasn't seeing it. Couldn't figure it out.

_Because I'm not strong enough_, he thought automatically. _If I was strong enough, I'd know what to do._

And then he remembered Kenshin, with all his power and lethal grace, huddled on the ground at Kaoru's feet and clutching her skirts in a wordless plea. Begging her not to sell him, not to hurt him. Unable to change his own fate.

Strength hadn't helped _him_ one goddamn bit, had it?

Yahiko knocked on the door.

"Hey, Ugly! Dinner's ready!"

A brief pause. And then: "Alright, Yahiko, I'll be there in a second!"

She sounded completely normal. When she came out of the training hall she had her usual bright smile on and she even bounced on the balls of her feet and stretched, exclaiming about how satisfying it was to have a good meal after a workout. He mocked her about her weight; she snapped back at him, and they bickered all the way to the dining room.

And he kept turning the question over and over, in the back of his mind: if simply _being strong_ wasn't enough, then what was?

* * *

It was a lovely night. Daigoro smiled genially at nothing, shoving his glasses up his nose. They kept falling down. It made the world awfully spinny – or maybe that was the sake. No, it couldn't be the sake. He hadn't had more than a flask! Or two. Possibly three. But that was alright. He was celebrating. Miss Itsuko. Yes. She'd said yes – well, her _father_ had said yes, but that meant she had said yes because he never would have said yes if he hadn't said yes –

The point. Was. The point was, he was going to marry Miss Itsuko.

He tripped over a loose brick and collided with Tatsuma, who stumbled into a wall.

"_Dai_goro…" his foster brother muttered, shoving him away. "Can't you hold your liquor at all?"

Normally he would have flinched at the harsh remark, but the sake had filled him with a warm, tingly, golden sort of feeling and his usual fears of not measuring up were too far away. Besides, Tatsuma didn't really mean it.

"Nope!" he said cheerfully, slinging his arm around his foster-brother's neck. "Have to 'member that for thaweddin', can't drink a'th'reception or Miss'tsuko will be mad at meeee…"

Tatsuma tried to stand up straight, but between Daigoro's weight and his own inebriation he ended up half-slouched against the wall and slowly, inevitably, sliding towards the gutter.

"Get _off_ me," he grunted, trying to keep on his feet. "Or we're gonna end up passing out here and then Miss Itsuko will _really_ be mad."

"'s _allowed_," Daigoro mumbled into his shoulder. "_Celebratin'_ and suchlike…"

Tatsuma gave up and let himself fall. Daigoro sprawled on top of him and started snoring.

"…idiot," he said fondly, and tilted his head back against the wall. Oh well.

He heard footsteps approaching and waved blearily in their direction.

"Don't mind us," he slurred. "Just a couple'a drunks too dizzy to find our way home…"

The footsteps paused. Tastuma grinned in their general direction.

"We're celebrating." He pushed Daigoro a little, who obligingly rolled over on his back. "Or at least four-eyes here is. 'Cause he's getting married. I'm just helping."

"How wonderful," said a sickly-sweet voice. Tatsuma blinked into the night-fog that shrouded the street, trying to focus. "Such a pity that the young couple must be separated. The fates can be so cruel."

"…whazza?" Tastuma had time to ask.

Then the blade came down.

* * *

Megumi didn't hear the news until mid-afternoon, when Mrs. Nakamura came in to pick up her prescription and fluttered it all over the waiting room like the gossipy hen that she was.

"Oh, it's dreadful!" she said, eyes aglow with excitement. "Those two dear boys, murdered in the street! And poor Miss Kamiya, to have such a thing happen right at her doorstep!"

"What?" Megumi stood. "A murder? Near the Kamiya school?"

"Yes!" The older woman's eyes grew sly. "Aren't you friends with the Kamiya girl?" she simpered. "I suppose that if you are, I should tell you what else I heard."

"Please do," Megumi said, fear drawing around her like a cloak.

"Did you already know that she's finally gone and gotten herself a slave?" Megumi nodded. Mrs. Nakamura continued. "Well, _I_ heard that the police have a witness saying that they saw her new slave fleeing the scene!"

"Really." Megumi let a hint of contempt through in her voice. "And why on earth would a Kamiya be involved in something like that?"

"Oh, I hardly mean to suggest that Koushijiro's daughter would be a _murderer!_" Mrs. Nakamura twittered. "But that slave of hers, did you know that he was abandoned? She took him in out of the goodness of her heart, and you _know_ how slaves repay that. He probably attacked them and lied to her – and she's just too naïve to believe that he could!"

"I see."

Megumi closed her eyes, biting back words that would mean nothing and accomplish less. When she opened them again, she was smiling: or at any rate, baring her teeth.

"Thank you _so_ much, Mrs. Nakamura. What a helpful person you are. Here's your medication; the instructions are on the package."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all! Thank you for your time."

Mrs. Nakamura left. Megumi settled herself into her chair for a moment, cupping her hands loosely in the lap, and breathed three slow breaths.

Then she got up and put on her coat.

"Dr. Oguni? I'm going to the Kamiya school. I probably won't be back today."

"Oh, is that so?" He looked up from his paperwork. "Well, don't forget your key. I'll be locking the gate at sundown – we can't be too careful, with a murderer about."

He looked perfectly serene, but she knew better. She waited in the doorway for a second, in case he had something else to say.

"And tell Kaoru…" He paused for a moment. "…tell her that I know her father would be proud of the woman she has become."

Dr. Oguni returned to his papers as he said it, taking a sip of tea. Outside, the girls shrieked with laughter.

Megumi left.

She wasn't the only person walking towards the Kamiya school. There was a sharp aura in the air: the feeling of a flock of carrion-birds gathering, waiting for the unseen signal to take flight. When she finally arrived, she wasn't at all surprised to find a small mob already gathered at the gates, headed by a handful of policemen. Many of the officers were nursing bruised wrists; one was only semi-conscious and supported between two of his colleagues. Kaoru and Sano were facing off against them, Kenshin standing stiffly in his place just behind his mistress. Yahiko was well inside the gate, crouched on the ground and cradling his arm.

"…and what witness is this?" Kaoru was demanding as Megumi insinuated herself into the crowd. "You keep talking about a witness, but you won't tell me who they are!"

She put her hands on her hips, one of them clutching her wooden sword. She was still in her training clothes; they were sweat-stained, but Kaoru wasn't sweating anymore, and Megumi wondered exactly how long she'd been here.

"We can't give you the witness' name, miss," the officer said, shifting uncomfortably under Kaoru's glare and the crowd's growing anticipation. "For their protection."

"_Protection?_" Kaoru reared up, venomous. "Are you accusing me of plotting a _murder?_"

"No!" He wiped his forehead anxiously. "That is – it's procedure, that's all."

"Oh, I see." She tossed her head back, spitting fury. "So it's_ procedure_ to break into my home and confiscate my property without my presence or permission? It's _procedure _for me to come back from a hard day's work and find _armed officers_ trying to break down my door? My father was a loyal servant of the shōgun for his entire life. Is this is his reward for it?"

"I'm _sorry_ for the trouble, Miss Kamiya," the officer said wearily. "My men were impulsive and rash, and they _will_ be disciplined."

"They had better be! And they should count themselves lucky I don't arm Kenshin with live steel, _and_ that only one of them actually made it onto the grounds! If Yahiko hadn't been home – and that reminds me, I should press charges for what your men did to his arm!"

"Be that as it may – " he started to say, and was cut off as one of the policemen pushed his way past them.

"That _thing's_ a menace!" He jabbed a finger towards Kenshin. "She's crazed, keeping an animal like that around! It should be put down!"

"Say that again," Kaoru snarled, bringing up her sword. The officer interposed himself between the two of them.

"That's _enough_, Gasuke, you know the law, she was within her rights to have a guard set and _you're_ in the wrong for not checking…"

But the policeman wasn't listening. He shoved his superior aside and grabbed at Kaoru, who took a single step back. The policeman feinted right, trying to get under her guard. She brought up her hilt to block him – _stupid girl, _Megumi thought briefly, _he's out to hurt you, don't show mercy_ – and then there was a flash of red hair and the sick crack of breaking bone. The policeman flew back into the crowd. Kenshin was standing in front of Kaoru now, his own wooden sword drawn, and there was nothing at all in his eyes. The crowd gasped. An electric current of whispers ran through it.

Sano stepped forward, cracking his knuckles.

"I think maybe you oughta take your guys an' go, before this gets any messier," he said quietly, in a reasonable tone that carried just the slightest hint of a snake's rattle. "Don't you agree?"

The officer looked back at his men, and then at the crowd. They hadn't taken a side, yet; the police were the police, but Kaoru was _Kaoru_, Koushijiro's daughter, and Megumi could feel the confusion radiating from them in waves. Confusion could turn so easily to anger. It wouldn't take much to set them off, and there was no telling where that wave would break.

Something was very off about this. If the police had been authorized to make a forced entry, the officer wouldn't be standing here trying to negotiate. The police didn't normally make a mistake this dire. If there was one thing the government hated, it was paying for things, and unauthorized forced entries onto guarded compounds almost always ended in the force having to pay compensation for the loss of property.

The officer licked his lips. "Miss Kamiya, please try to understand," he said with a hint of pleading, flicking his eyes nervously towards Kenshin. "Our witness is very clear – it was _your_ slave they saw fleeing the scene, with a bloody sword. The murders happened outside _your_ school. And half the town already knows! If I don't do _something_…"

He spread his hands helplessly. Megumi pursed her lips. Kaoru looked like she was on the verge of losing it, and if she said or did the wrong thing here, if she forgot that she was a _slaveowner_ and should only be outraged over the offense to her property, not because these men were threatening to take Kenshin away…

"May I make a suggestion?" she said, stepping forward and keeping her voice sugar-sweet.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I'm going to have to ask bystanders to stay out of this." The officer rubbed the back of his neck. "It's a very sensitive situation."

Kenshin angled himself to keep both the officer and Megumi within striking range. Kaoru touched his shoulder, lightly.

"It's alright, Kenshin," she said, stepping up beside him. "Don't worry. Megumi is a friend," she said to the officer. "I'd like to hear what she has to say."

Her eyes said _please fix this_ and Megumi raised an eyebrow. She did have a solution, a terrible one, one that Kaoru was bound to hate – but it was better than the alternatives. The police couldn't be allowed to take Kenshin, but demanding that they do nothing would be terribly suspicious. None of them could afford that kind of attention

"…fine." The officer crossed his arms. "What's your suggestion?"

"Kamiya. I'm sure you see his point – if the news is already out, and the police aren't seen to act, it's going to cause problems for everyone." She looked meaningfully at the younger girl. _Everyone, Kamiya, do you understand?_

"I'm not letting him take Kenshin." There was a mulish set to her mouth, and Megumi risked an approving smile.

"As you shouldn't. His men tried to take an illegal action. They violated your home and your rights. But there's a middle ground – don't you have a storehouse?"

Kaoru blinked, and then looked straight into Megumi's eyes. Her brows were drawn and fierce

"Are you suggesting…?"

"No one loses face this way," Megumi said softly, willing Kaoru to make the rest of the connection. This situation stank to high heaven; it felt like someone was trying to maneuver them around the board, and they needed time to figure out who was doing it and why. They needed to police willing to work with them. They needed to appear willing to cooperate. They needed to do _nothing_ that would draw more attention. "Surely you can see the logic."

Kaoru firmed her jaw and looked away. Megumi knew the look in her eyes – she'd seen it too many times in her own. When the best option isn't the right one…

She was very careful not to look at Kenshin. She didn't want to know – didn't want to see if he was having one of those precious flashes of awareness, or if he was as dull-eyed and resigned as always. Either one would break her heart.

"Fine. Officer – "

"Ryunosuke."

"Ryunosuke. I'm willing to keep Kenshin – secured – on the premises until all this is resolved. Would that be acceptable?"

Kaoru's eyes were steel. He ran his a hand over his face.

"I don't see how I have much of a choice," he said ruefully, like a man glad to see a way out of a tricky situation. Which was what he was, of course, and Megumi felt cold hatred bloom in her, slow and easy and comfortable. Kenshin wasn't a _man_ to him, just evidence in an ongoing investigation. "Will you let me put a police seal on the doors?"

Megumi nodded at Kaoru when she glanced uncertainly towards her. Kaoru's lips compressed into a thin, bloodless line.

"Fine," she said. "Come with me."

"Let me deal with this, first." The officer turned to the crowd. "Show's over, folks!" he cried, waving them away. "When I come back out I don't want to see anyone lingering, alright? Go about your business!"

The civilians began to disperse, grumbling and gossiping. The policemen left, too, after a wordless look from their superior. Ryunosuke nodded to Kaoru, touching his fingers to his cap.

"After you, miss."

Kaoru turned on her heel and stalked off, gesturing for Kenshin and the officer to follow. They did – Ryunosuke with a bit of a spring in his step, and Kenshin with a catch in his. Sano lingered by the gate, casting fierce glances at anyone who didn't move away quickly enough. Megumi knelt by Yahiko.

"Let me see your arm," she said, as gently as she could.

"It's fine," he muttered. She grabbed his wrist anyway and pulled up his sleeve, flicking him in the forehead when he tried to pull away. There was a long, shallow cut down the entire length of his arm.

"One of 'em had a knife," Yahiko said sullenly. "Tried to get me when I rushed him. Kenshin grabbed me outta the way, but I got grazed."

"It's already stopped bleeding," she said, letting go of his wrist. "Disinfect it and wrap it up for a few days, and you'll be fine."

"Thanks." He looked up at her. "Hey, um – you're going to figure out who's framing Kenshin, right?"

"That's the plan," she said, standing. "Why do you ask?"

Yahiko's eyes were very fierce. "There was a guy in the marketplace yesterday. Kihei Hiruma. He tried to get Kaoru to sell Kenshin to him, but she wouldn't. He – he felt like bad news."

The name did sound familiar. Megumi furrowed her brow, trying to remember. Hadn't he been…?

Her eyes widened as understanding hit her.

"I see," she said, mainly to herself. "Thank you, Yahiko. Thank you very much."

* * *

It took everything Kaoru had not to slap the officer when he turned to her with a smile and thanked her for her cooperation after he sealed the storehouse doors. She looked sharply away from him, instead, and clenched her free hand in her clothes.

"Now get off my property," she snapped, tense beyond bearing. "And don't do something like this again, you understand?"

"Of course, Miss." He touched his fingers to his cap again. "Again, I'm very sorry, and my men will be disciplined."

"Just go." She stuck her wooden sword through her belt. "Quickly."

He turned on his heel and left. She watched long enough to be sure that he was truly gone, and then she flew up the stairs to the sealed door and stood on her toes, peering through the small, barred window. Kenshin was kneeling on the floor inside, head bowed.

"Kenshin…" Her hands gripped the bars and she rested her forehead against them, heat gathering in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. We'll figure this out – I promise. I promise it'll be okay."

He didn't look up.

"Kamiya," Megumi said from behind her. "We need to talk."

Kaoru's fist slammed against the door. Kenshin jumped at that and his head snapped up, eyes wide. She whirled around to face Megumi.

"If it's about how I didn't handle it right and I need to be more careful or I'm too impetuous or anything else about all the things I do wrong then _I don't want to hear about it!_" she snarled. "The only thing I want to hear right now is some kind of plan for getting Kenshin _out_ of this mess!"

Megumi raised a single elegant eyebrow, examining her nails.

"Should I come back when you're done with your tantrum?" she asked, acidly sweet.

Kaoru clenched her fists and very deliberately didn't stomp her foot. _No more childish things_, she thought briefly, taking a deep breath. She held it for a moment, then relaxed her hands and let it out, slowly.

"…okay. Someone is framing Kenshin, and we need to know who, and why."

"Kenshin?" Megumi gave her a sly look out of the corner of her eye. "Who would bother to frame a slave?"

"…I don't know. Someone who wanted to get at their master?" Kaoru shook her head, trying to clear the fog. "But I don't have any enemies like _that_…"

She couldn't think. Not with Kenshin locked up behind her – not when every nerve in her body was screaming outrage, because she'd come home to find her home _invaded_ and Yahiko crouched behind Kenshin, holding his arm, and she'd died a thousand small deaths before she could force her way past the scrum and see that he was only scratched a little.

Then she'd died a thousand more, thinking about what _could_ have happened.

_If Kenshin hadn't been there…_

If Kenshin hadn't been there, would this even have happened?

No. She wouldn't start down that path. It had happened, and Kenshin had been there, and he had protected her home and her student. And she'd rewarded him by locking him away like a criminal – no, worse, like a badly behaved _dog._

The realization unstrung her and she gasped, spinning back around.

"Kenshin!"

He was standing now, in that strange loose tension that meant he didn't understand. She wrapped her fingers around the bars, hating the wrongness of it.

"Thank you," she said softly. His head seemed to tilt to one side, like a bird examining something new.

"Thank you," she said again, a little stronger now. "For protecting Yahiko. If you hadn't – he's going to be okay, you know, because you pulled him away in time. _Thank_ you. And this isn't your fault," she continued, urgent, wanting him to understand and knowing that she could never be sure that he did. "I know you didn't do anything wrong, and I'm going to prove it. Hang in there, okay?"

His eyes met hers and she swallowed, grip tightening. They were awash with a pale purple, like the moments before sunrise, and brighter than she had ever seen them – except for that first night, when she'd said _all I want is for you to heal _and just for a moment he'd looked at her like he was a human being. Lost, frightened, broken, but still human. Still aware.

He was looking at her as though he understood.

"…hang in there," she repeated in a whisper, and her hands loosened to press flat against the bars.

Then he lowered his head and knelt. She turned back to Megumi. The doctor was regarding her with another one of those strange looks of hers, as though she'd been confronted with an unexpected discrepancy in her formulas.

"Where's Sano and Yahiko? We should all be here for this."

"They're getting Yahiko bandaged. We can go inside…"

"No." Kaoru shook her head. "We should _all_ be here. Kenshin's involved, too."

She went and fetched them. They came without too much complaining. Sano wanted to chase down the policemen and rough them up, but it was easy to talk him out of it. He was only scared, after all. Yahiko was different – he slouched along, sullen as ever, and she knew it would take a while for him to stop being furious at himself for failing to protect his home.

"Alright," she said, when they had all assembled outside the sealed storehouse. "So. Does anyone have any idea what's going on?"

"Kihei Hiruma," Megumi said from the step where she'd perched herself, ankles neatly crossed. "_That's_ what's going on."

"Who?" Kaoru blinked, surprised.

"From yesterday," Yahiko added. "The creep who wanted you to sell Kenshin."

A picture form slowly in her mind – that small, fat man who'd smelled like too much western perfume, squinting his eyes up at her with an oily grin. The tug on her skirts and glancing down to see Kenshin's hand wrapped in them, white-knuckled; the soft silk of his hair under her fingers.

"_He_ did this?" She grasped the hilt of her sword, stroking her thumb over the grain. _Calm. The sword that protects_. "Why?"

"Kihei and his brother are collectors," Megumi said with that deceptive mildness of hers. "Of slaves. They were hangers-on of Kanryu's, never terribly important but he invited them to the more public banquets. Kihei had a particular… fascination… with Kenshin."

Kaoru was pretty sure that _fascination_ was supposed to imply something, but she didn't know what and, more importantly, didn't care.

"So why frame him for murder?" she demanded. "Killer slaves get executed."

Understanding lit Sano's face and he cursed roundly, snapping his fingers.

"That ain't the point. It's makin' him too damn inconvenient to keep – they're why the witness' story is spreadin' so far, ain't they?"

"Yes," Megumi said, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "And the officer who invaded your home was probably on their payroll. They didn't intend to confiscate Kenshin at all – just to cause a fuss, and lay the groundwork for more rumor mongering. And when things are at their worst, they'll offer to make all the trouble go away if you'll only sell to them."

Kaoru's head spun and she sat down abruptly. Yahiko growled low in his throat.

"_Bastards._"

"Language, Yahiko," she said absently, twisting her fingers around and around each other. Sano and Megumi started talking over her, about strategy and investigations, working carefully around the secret that Yahiko didn't share. Yahiko only stared fiercely at the ground, as if glaring at it would force it to yield up its secrets

Exhaustion lay across her shoulders like a heavy blanket. This was how it went, she _knew_ that, it had been this way with Yahiko and every other wounded creature – two steps forward, one step back. But the steps forward had never been so small before, and the step back was so _huge_…

_This I choose to do._

She pressed her hands firmly against her thighs and stood up.

"Sano, you've got friends in the underworld, right?"

He stopped in the middle of countering Megumi on some minor point and blinked at her, scratching his head.

"Yeah."

"Find out who really committed those murders. They had to have hired someone, right? So if we can produce the real killer, that's one problem solved."

"They'll find another way," Megumi pointed out.

"And we'll stop them when they do," she said firmly, cold purpose in her veins. "Megumi – people are always gossiping at the clinic, right? Can you keep us updated, so that we don't get caught off-guard like this again?"

"Of course."

"Good. Now. We should all think hard about a more permanent solution," she said, taking a deep breath, "but for now, all we're doing is running in circles. So Sano, Megumi, you do what I've asked, and we'll meet again later when we have more information, okay?"

Now Sano was the one looking strangely at her. She looked right back, daring him to come out and say whatever was on his mind. The anger roaring inside her had collapsed into something diamond-hard and clean as a new blade. She'd only felt this surety once before, when she'd knelt before her father's memorial altar and sworn to carry on his work despite everything, his former students' laughter ringing in her ears.

"What should I do?" Yahiko asked, looking up for the first time.

"The same as Megumi. A lot of people pass through the Akabeko – if they're going to use rumours, we need to know what those rumours are." The answer came so easily to her, in this still place of absolute purpose.

_To carry the sword that protects means that that it's up to you, always up to you. You are not permitted to fail. Your life is not the only one at stake; should you falter, should you fall, those whom you protect fall with you. _

She hadn't known until now how little she'd truly understood her father's teachings.

Yahiko nodded, a fierce glow in his face. Megumi smiled her approval, elegant and sanguine. Sano looked away.

"Now. I'm going to make dinner. We'll meet tomorrow."

Kaoru glanced over her shoulder, once, and thought she saw Kenshin standing at the sealed door before she strode away, already making plans.

* * *

Megumi stayed to help make dinner, so it turned out edible. The four of them ate quickly, in silence, and Kaoru faster than the others. As soon as she was done she brought a tray out to Kenshin, along with a small oil lamp. There wasn't any light in the shed, and the day was darkening quickly.

As she was leaving, Megumi touched her forearm, lightly, and said that Dr. Oguni had a message for her.

_Your father would be proud of the woman you've become_, she recited, and Kaoru had thanked her and not needed to blink away the tears until she'd hurried away to where Megumi couldn't see.

Kenshin's fingers covered hers briefly as she passed the tray and the lamp to him through the hatch set below the window in the right-hand door. The sun was already setting, and it was hard to see.

"The lamp's for you," she said quietly. "There's a matchbook, too, so you can light it. Um – and there should be some spare bedding in the big cabinet, across from the ladder. You can use it for now, until we get you out of there. Which we will," she said, feeling a bit repetitive but not knowing what else to say.

He moved away from the windows. There was the sulpher-snap of a lighting match and a flare of fire that settled into a calm glow. It move across the interior of the storehouse, casting distorted shadows, then stilled. She guessed that he'd put the lamp on the ladder.

With a low susurration of cloth he returned to the window, head bowed. His face was cast in shadow by the light behind him.

"Mistress," he said, not quite flatly. "Forgive this worthless one."

"Forgive?" Kaoru shook her head. "This is Kihei's fault, not yours. You didn't do anything wrong, so there's nothing to forgive."

His hand pressed, very carefully, against the bars. She ducked her head, trying to look past his bangs and the shadows, trying to see his face. A long moment passed, and his head bowed further. His hand started to slide away, his eyes completely hidden.

Like when she'd asked him to play with the girls.

Like when she'd refused to sell him.

She pressed her hand very carefully against the bars, mirroring his. Her pulse pounded hard in her temples.

His hand stopped moving. They stood there, not touching, and after too many rabbit-quick heartbeats his head rose slowly until she could see his eyes. Something was growing there – she could _see_ it, not quite at the surface but so, so heartbreakingly close and she urged it on, silently. His throat worked.

Then his hand left the bars and he stepped away, bowing. She closed her eyes briefly, smiling, a little rueful. _I can't expect miracles, after all._

"Goodnight, Kenshin," she said softly. "And don't worry. We'll fix this."

It was hard to get to sleep that night; her room felt strange and empty without the sound of his breathing.


	6. in the arms of a hurricane

**A/n: In this chapter, Yahiko yells at absolutely everyone. Poor kid.**

* * *

"Sorry, Sano." Nishita shook his head. "I haven't heard anything about it."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, damn." Sano scratched the back of his neck. "This keeps up, I'm gonna have to start breaking heads," he said casually, hoping Nishita would get the message.

"N-no need for that!" Nishita's grin widened into a strained grimace. He waved his hands, slightly frantic. "I'm sure _someone_ knows about the job! B-but I don't! You know I don't deal in wetwork."

Message received.

"That's true," Sano said, sticking his hands back in his pockets and slouching towards the door. "But you just spread the word, okay? I'm _real_ interested in finding out who's givin' the little lady a hard time, and soon. I ain't got a lotta patience under the best of circumstances, so…"

"I got it, I got it!" Nishita wiped at his brow, smiling more earnestly now that Sano was on his way out of the store. "I'll make sure everyone knows, okay? Man, though, they must be friggin' amateurs, going after your girl like that…"

"Keep speculating about my personal life an' I might just forget how useful you've been," Sano said, keeping his voice as friendly as he could. He felt rather than saw Nishita flinch and grinned savagely as he stepped out into the street.

Then the grin faded as quickly as it had appeared. Fuckin' hell. As if scarin' a small operator like Nishita was anything to be proud of. But he hadn't been a lot to cheer him up in the past week: there hadn't been any more murders, which was great for property values but didn't do jack to clear Kenshin. The police were starting to lean on Kaoru. As days had passed without any more deaths, and she still refused to turn Kenshin over, they had started to make noises like they thought that maybe she was complicit, somehow. Hiruma's contact in the department was doing his best to make it the working theory, and not just a possibility.

Damn.

The rumor mill was churning, too. Public sentiment was slowly shifting against Kaoru: she was being selfish, the whispers went, refusing to hand over her mad slave because her pride had been offended by the police officer's actions. She was endangering the entire community because of a childish grudge. It was unconscionable. And so on. It wouldn't be long until someone got riled up enough to do something stupid.

Sano checked the sun and scowled, chewing thoughtfully on the fishbone in his mouth. It had been about two days since he'd left the signal for Shinomori, and that was about how long it usually took him to get a response out. Maybe it was worth wandering over there.

Besides, he'd run out of contacts.

* * *

There were about a dozen dead drops scattered around Edo that he knew about: he was certain that there were more, but they were probably used by those other cells he wasn't supposed to know existed. It wasn't that anyone lacked confidence in him or his abilities, but Edo was too damn big for one person to handle. Sano was pretty sure that his group was the keystone, though. Or maybe he was supposed to think that. He tried _not_ to think about it, actually, because you needed a mind like a goddamn corkscrew to plan this shit and the headaches just weren't worth it.

He still wasn't sure why the captain had tapped him to lead instead of someone with a twistier psyche. But after watching Megumi and Shinomori plot for a few weeks, he'd started to think that maybe it'd been _because_ he wasn't professionally paranoid. That the captain had chosen him because he _wasn't_ a genius, and he _knew_ that he wasn't: he would listen to the sneaky folk and make sure they had the time and space they needed to do their jobs instead of getting so far up his own ass that he could see daylight coming the other way. He could receive sensitive information without needing to speculate on it, and he was loyal to the cause for its own sake.

And he'd do whatever it took to protect his people. Which would have been more valuable to the captain than the ability to overthink a bowl of natto.

The dead drop he'd used this time was an abandoned shrine on the outskirts of what had been a fashionable neighborhood about ten years ago. There had been a fire, however, and the area had never really recovered. It wasn't exactly a slum, but it wasn't the kind of place that respectable people did more than pass through on their way to somewhere else. The shrine had been dedicated to the local guardian deity, who had apparently been asleep on the job when the fire swept through.

He'd left the signal for Shinomori wrapped around a branch of the old offering-tree; it was gone, so he'd at least gotten the message. But there wasn't anything wrapped in its place, so he either didn't have or hadn't yet acquired the information. Sano kicked a rock, for lack of anything more useful to do, and turned to leave.

Shinomori was standing under the shrine gate.

"Sagara."

"Aoshi."

Shinomori nodded as he approached, his cold eyes looking right through Sano. It had annoyed the _hell_ out of him, at first, until he'd realized that Shinomori wasn't trying to talk down to him. He was just naturally icy. But it still got under Sano's skin a little, so he'd started using Shinomori's first name as if they were old friends. If Shinomori cared, he'd never shown it.

"You got what I asked for?"

"No." He stopped as he said it, well out of Sano's range. Sano eyed him warily; Shinomori was a competent enough fighter to be doing it deliberately.

"No like you haven't gotten it _yet_ or no like you ain't gonna be able to get it, period?"

"The latter." Shinomori's voice was even and calm, but he drew back a little bit, bracing himself. Sano sneered, as angry about the spy's apparent belief that he couldn't control himself as the news he'd just been given. Sometimes you didn't get what you were after. It happened. You found another way. Maybe Shinomori wanted them to believe he was a god, but Sano knew for a damn fact that he bled the same as anyone.

"You mind if I ask _why?_" he asked, careful not to clench his fists.

"I cannot justify the expenditure of my resources." There was nothing in Shinomori's face, now, not even the professional caution that had been there a minute ago.

It took Sano a minute to parse the sentence. Then his fists _did_ clench, as black fury – hey there, buddy, long time no see – rose out of the pit under his heart.

"What you mean," Sano said, very carefully, because it was important to get this right, "is that you _can_, but you ain't _gonna_."

"Correct."

Impulse became action and Sano launched himself at Shinomori, snarling. It was stupid; he knew it was stupid as soon as he did it. He was just past caring, because Kaoru was in danger and Kaoru was a slaveowner and the little life he'd managed to carve out for himself beyond the struggle had gone all to shit and he had _nothing_ left to remind him that there would be an _ after-the-war_.

Shinomori stepped aside, batting at Sano's extended fist. Sano was expecting it: he ducked the counter and spun on his heel, bringing his knee up for a kick. But Shinomori was gone. He'd retreated instead of engaging, sliding a good few yards down the path, and held up his hands in the most conciliatory gesture Sano had ever seen from the cold-blooded bastard.

"Sagara," he said, calm as ever, but there might have been a hint of compassion buried behind his eyes. "This is foolish."

"So we're supposed to do fucking _what_, exactly? Sit around with our thumbs up our ass and let the missy deal with it?" Sano cracked his knuckles, advancing. Shinomori held his ground. "Cause if nothing else, a paranoid fuck like you oughta know that if she goes down, she'll take the rest of us down with her no matter how hard she tries not to."

"No." Shinomori fell into an easy fighting stance, and Sano grinned savagely. So he was only willing to let the first attack go. Good. The man had some fucking pride after all. "Sagara. I do not suggest that you leave Miss Kamiya unprotected."

"Then what _are_ you suggesting?" Sano held his stance, but he held his position, too. Because as much as the rage was screaming for sweat and struggle and blood on the pavement, for something simple and easy and _clean_ –

– he was the leader. He had a job to do. The captain had trusted him, and he wouldn't betray that trust.

Deep breath.

He let his hands fall to his side.

"Talk," he ground out, barely conscious of the world outside the blood pounding in his ears.

"Kihei Hiruma desires the manslayer, does he not?" Shinomori seemed to shrug, almost. "Let him have what he wants."

Sano stared for a second, gaping. It was simple – simple and brutal and perfectly rational, and it hadn't even crossed his mind.

"Missy'll never stand for it," he said automatically.

"It is no longer her decision to make." Shinomori relaxed, insofar as the man ever relaxed, and his hand stopped hovering near his shortsword. "She is not the only person involved in this, Sagara. Will you jeopardize everything for one girl's foolish ideals?"

There was the strangest light in his eyes: flickering like fire but cold as winter. Sano looked away.

He _could_. If there was any situation that called for invoking his authority, it was this one. If Hiruma stepped up his game, there was every chance that he'd uncover the cell. Operational security had to be maintained, at any cost – there was too much at stake. The potential payoff of Kaoru's project was what, exactly? One _maybe_ rehabilitated slave, who _may_ one day be able to function as a normal human being? How did that benefit the cause? How did that help plan for the coming storm?

It didn't. One potential, future fighter, weighed against the entire Edo operation… there was no contest.

Sano knew the equations. He knew the answer that the leader of the revolutionaries in Edo had to give. And he knew what he believed: he knew the answer that Sanosuke Sagara carried burning in him like a brand.

"Difficult decisions must be made in times of war," Shinomori said, softly. "She will come to understand this."

_No_, Sano wanted to say, _she won't_. Except he thought maybe she would: there had been a sheen in her eyes like the light on a blade lately, like something hard and relentless was revealing itself inside her. She'd mourn and she'd rage and she'd hate him for making the call. A month ago, he'd have _known_ that she'd never forgive him for it. But now…

Now, she might understand. Because she'd had to make her own hard choices.

And that – that she had come to this point, after he'd tried so _damn_ hard to keep her out of it – made him want to turn the manslayer over just for spite. Which made him want to puke and hit something. Or possibly himself. For being the pettiest fucking asshole this side of China.

That didn't mean that turning Kenshin over wasn't the best decision. Shinomori wouldn't have suggested it if it wasn't. Could he justify refusing just 'cause he was worried about looking like a petty asshole?

Sano turned his head and spat, trying to get the bad taste out of his mouth. Shinomori didn't say anything, just stood and watched. Sano looked at him, then at the sky, then at the ground, hoping to see something written there. Hoping for time, and wisdom that he didn't have. Hoping against hope that he'd see the captain walking towards him, with that small smile and calm air, the way Sano tried to remember him; hoping that he'd come and take this decision away.

He didn't find anything. The captain was dead, and staying that way.

With a snarl, he spun around and started to walk away.

"Where are you going?"

"To fucking think about it!" he spat over his shoulder, and left.

* * *

He'd lied.

About five hours, two brawls, a jug of sake and more money lost than he actually had to hand later, that was the one thing he couldn't get out of his head. He'd told Shinomori: _I'm going to think about it_ and he hadn't thought about it at all. He'd thrown himself headlong into a bright whirl, like a goddamn coward, and no wonder the fox-lady thought he was scum. Every time things got tough he ran for the hills.

He was aware, dimly, that he'd reached the maudlin self-loathing stage of the proceedings, and that if he didn't find a fight soon he was going to end up bawling in a corner.

Good thing he only drank where he was sure to find a fight.

Oh, look: here one came now, in the form of a very foolish young samurai with a fresh-shaved topknot and a sword he'd probably gotten from his daddy that very morning. Excellent. Sano pushed his jug to one side as the pup swaggered over, one hand on his sword hilt. He was a skinny little bastard, and still had traces of adolescent acne.

"Are you Sanosuke Sagara?" the pup demanded, voice breaking on the last syllable.

"Depends." Sano considered the kid, noting his resemblance to an inbred terrier, and decided that he would do quite nicely. No challenge in and of himself, of course, but if he couldn't goad the idiot into starting a full-on tavern brawl then he really was getting old. "Who's askin'?"

"I am." The boy smirked and hooked an ankle around the stool, pulling it out and sitting down with his elbows propped on the table.

"I don't recall invitin' you to sit, _kid_."

"I have information about the murders outside your woman's dojo."

Sano caught himself just before he rolled his eyes. That particular rumor _really_ had some legs to it; he didn't mind it, exactly, since it kept Yahiko and the missy safe from most of the criminal elements, but he dreaded the day it got back to Kaoru.

"That so?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Now how is it that some pretty-boy samurai whose balls just dropped knows somethin' no one's heard dick about?"

"Because they're not my father's son." The boy's eyes were cold, and he spat the sentence like a curse. "My father owes a gambling debt to a certain individual. In payment for that debt, he allows that man's brother and his filthy followers to defile a training hall which was once part of my family's estate. I can bring you there, for a price."

"And what price would that be?" Sano leaned forward despite himself, the sake wearing away at his ability to control his excitement. It was the only lead he'd had all week. And if it was legit, he wouldn't have to make the choice at all…

"A favor." The boy met his eyes squarely, and Sano grudgingly gave him a single point for effort. "I may have need of your services in the future."

"Sounds like you're getting' them now." Sano forced himself to lean back and lace his hands behind his head. "Defile's a pretty strong word. Seems to me that if you could get those folks out on your own, you would'a done it already."

The boy flushed and looked away. Sano chuckled, feeling suddenly generous; maybe it was the resemblance to Yahiko in the pup's profile.

"Look," he said. "You're new at this, an' I'm in a good mood right now, so I'll cut you a break. You take me to this training hall 'a yours, and dependin' on what we find there, we'll negotiate. If nothing else, kid," he added when the boy seemed to balk, "I'll remember your face as a useful kinda guy. My opinion's worth a fair bit 'round here."

"Fine," the boy grated out from between clenched teeth. "Come with me, Sagara."

The training hall he was talking about was situated on the very outskirts of Edo, in a patch of forest that bore the hallmarks of cultivated land left to run wild. Trees still bore echoes of the elegant shapes they'd been pruned and wired to grow in, and there were flowers putting forth blooms that didn't grow outside of gardens. It was getting dark by the time they arrived, and their shadows stretched long and mingled in front of them.

There wasn't anyone there. There were signs that people did come there – cracked pipes and struck matches abandoned in the weeds, footprints, a half-dozen demolished training dummies and a certain odor, of blood and sweat and stale alcohol. Sano told the kid to stay put and went inside the hall proper.

No one had trained here for a long time. There were some cushions, and dice for gambling; a corner full of weapons and gear; and a long, low table covered in paper. He went for the paperwork and his heart stopped.

In the center of the table, in a cleared space, was a map of Kaoru's neighborhood with a dagger through her home and a note – a single word.

_Tonight._

* * *

Dinner was quiet. Dinner had been quiet for the past week, ever since the police had come and tried to take Kenshin away. Neither Kaoru nor Yahiko had anything to say.

Kaoru knew that she should say something to her student. He'd been attacked, which was nothing in and of itself, but he'd been attacked and not seen it coming, not been able to stop it. Had his home invaded and had to rely on someone else to defend it. It rankled in him; she could see the frustration building up behind his eyes. He was pushing himself even harder than usual, to the point where it was doing more harm than good, and Tae had confided in her today that she'd found Tsubame crying after she and Yahiko had quarreled over something trivial.

She sighed heavily.

"What?" he asked, not looking up.

_It's nothing_, she started to say, and changed her mind.

"Tae tells me you got into a fight with Tsubame yesterday," she said mildly. His grip on his chopsticks tightened.

"So what?"

"Well, Tsubame seemed pretty upset…"

"Should I care?" he said abruptly, sneering. "She's just a girl. It's not like she understands anything."

"I thought she was your friend."

He put his rice bowl down with a decisive _thump_.

"Well, you thought wrong. She's just someone I know. That's all."

"I see." Kaoru took a sip of her soup, trying not to taste it. She'd added too much miso – or, well, she _thought_ that was what was wrong, maybe there wasn't enough stock – anyway, the end result had somehow ended up spicy enough to burn and at the same time, completely tasteless.

"What did you fight about?" she asked, grimacing as she swallowed.

"Nothing." Yahiko chewed ferociously on the piece of fish. "She's stupid, that's all."

"Yahiko…"

"What?"

Kaoru closed her eyes, giving up on dinner. She wasn't that hungry, anyway, and this needed to happen. Something had to break the tension inside him, and it wouldn't be the first time she'd deliberately made herself his target to get out whatever poison was building inside him.

"I know you're upset about what's happening," she said, fixing Yahiko with her firmest teacher's look, "but that's no reason to be cruel to Tsubame. You need to apologize to her."

"No." He folded his arms over his chest, glaring at her.

"Yahiko."

"Make me."

"_Yahiko_." She slammed her hand flat against the wooden table, snapping his name like a battle cry, and he jumped a good half a foot in the air. "That is _enough._ There is _no_ excuse for how you treated Tsubame and you _will_ make things right with her!"

"_Why should I?_" He was suddenly on his feet, red-faced, clenching his fists, and the veins in his neck were straining. "What's the point? What's the point of your _stupid_ school, anyway? What's the point of being strong when it doesn't stop bad things from happening?"

Yahiko's voice broke. Kaoru sat back, staring at her student as his chest heaved with the effort of controlling himself. Tears of rage formed in the corners of his eyes.

He threw out one arm, gesturing violently in the general direction of the storehouse. "You didn't _see _him, Kaoru. He's the best fighter I've ever seen! He's better than you, he might even be better than Sano!" His voice was hoarse. "And _look_ at him – look what _happened_ to him! So why should I bother being strong, why should I go through all this bullshit with _protecting_ people and _helping_ them when _that's not enough?_ Might as well give up, right? I mean – "

He fell on one knee, suddenly, slamming his fist into the floor with an incoherent cry.

"…if it's never gonna be _enough_, no matter how strong I get…"

And then he couldn't speak anymore. He was breathing hard, sucking in long gasps of air, holding them tight and panting them out again. Kaoru stood.

"…Yahiko."

He flinched away from her as she knelt back down next to him, but that was the only resistance he offered as she pulled him into a tight hug.

She'd been cruel to him. To all of them, really, but especially to him. He needed safety so badly; needed to know that tomorrow would be like today, and that today had been like yesterday. He'd spent most of his life never knowing where his next meal would come from or who he could trust, and it didn't matter how much he _knew_ that things would never get that bad again. Not when the police came with knives and broke down his door.

Yahiko wasn't frustrated; he was terrified. And it was a mark of how badly frightened he was that he wasn't protesting at the top of his lungs over being held close. Instead he only curled up more tightly.

He was always so full of himself, it was easy to forget that he was still just a child.

Eventually he shoved away and she let him go. He knelt in front of her with his hands fisted on his knees, shaking.

"…I think I kind of hate him, a little," he said finally. "If he hadn't come here, none of this would have happened. If you hadn't found him…"

Kaoru's heart froze in her chest.

"I'm sorry," she offered, lowering her eyes. "I don't know what else to say."

He sniffed one last time and got up.

"Yeah, I know. Uh. I should take dinner out there, shouldn't I?"

"You don't have to," she said, heart aching. "He's my responsibility."

"It's not his fault." Yahiko scuffed at the ground. "I know it's not. But – I don't have anyone else to blame, you know?"

_Blame me_, she wanted to say, but couldn't quite make the words come out. _Blame me_, because this was all her fault – she'd just charged ahead, without thinking, let her rage carry her over the cliff and now everyone else was falling with her. She was supposed to be the one _protecting _them. Making sure that they had a home where they were safe. Giving, never taking; and she was asking so _much_ of them…

What else could she have done, though? When Kenshin's eyes had widened and fixed on her like a compass on the north star… how could she have turned away from someone who needed her so badly?

Yahiko gathered up a tray, quiet, and then turned to leave.

"Yahiko."

He stopped.

"Wait." Kaoru took a deep breath, not knowing what she was going to say but feeling the words in her throat, the dim shape of them like a mountain on the far horizon. "It's not… being strong isn't… you're right." She swallowed. "Just being strong isn't enough. There's more to it than that – it's not just fighting. It's – it's…"

She closed her eyes for a moment.

"It's not as simple as just fighting."

It felt almost right: like she'd put the best words she could around it because she didn't know the right ones, not yet. Yahiko nodded.

"Yeah," he said, a little ruefully. "I figured as much. I just – I think, like, I don't _want_ it to be. You know?"

"I know." She exhaled again, too strong to be just a sigh. "And I'm sorry, Yahiko, I really am."

He shrugged, standing in the doorway and silhouetted against the dying light, and looked for a moment like the man he was going to become.

"It can't be helped, right?"

And then he left. Kaoru began to put the dishes away. Neither of them had eaten much. And she'd barely been sleeping; she kept waking up in the dark, heart racing, looking around for the source of the disturbance and finding nothing. Because it wasn't a presence, it was an _absence_. Kenshin was part of her life, now, and having him _not there_ felt like – like reaching for teakettle you think is full, and finding that it's empty. Or searching for something small and important and not finding it no matter how hard you looked.

Except that she knew exactly where he was. She made sure to stop and check on him every time she crossed the yard; she went to see him even if she had no reason and he was never any different. Kneeling in the center of the floor, answering any direct query but otherwise silent. There had been no repeat of the first night, when he'd almost touched her through the bars and he'd been close enough for her to feel his heat.

It wasn't only guilt at locking him away. It wasn't only her duty as the sole heir to the Kamiya Kasshin, to the sword that protects. It was that…

It was that Kenshin was _hers_.

She thought it quietly, in the hopes that the gods wouldn't hear. But she couldn't not feel it: when she'd come home to find the police trying to take him there had been a split second of instinctive, possessive _rage_ that someone had _dared_ lay a hand on him.

Kaoru shuddered, nearly convulsing, and almost dropped the plates. She shouldn't feel that way, shouldn't… she should only be outraged because he was a person in trouble, a person being treated unfairly. She had no right to feel – the way she felt when someone threatened Yahiko only darker, because Yahiko could at least fight back and Kenshin couldn't. Kenshin had no choice. If she didn't protect him, no one would; if she hadn't claimed him, anyone would have been able to pick him up and hurt him…

She dumped the dishes in the sink with enough force that one of them cracked. Scoffing at herself, she threw it out.

"Excuses, excuses," she muttered, and got to scrubbing.

* * *

The lantern inside the storage shed cast a low, steady light outwards, split by the shadows of the bars in the doors. Yahiko hesitated at the bottom of the steps, biting his lip. He felt hollowed-out and shaky, uncertain of his footing.

"Hey, Kenshin," he called out, voice wavering. "I brought dinner."

He set the tray down for a second to open the hatch. Kenshin was already standing by the door; from Yahiko's low angle, he could only see the cloth of his shirt. There were a few tricky moments as he lifted the tray through but it worked out fine in the end, with no spills. He heard the quiet thud of the tray being set on the floor, and then Kenshin passed the old one back through.

"Thanks," Yahiko muttered, and started to walk away.

Then he stopped.

"Kenshin."

His heart was loud, pounding rabbit-fast in his throat, and he wasn't sure exactly what he was going to say. Except that – that he wasn't _done_, dammit, he couldn't possibly have kept going after Kaoru – after the way she'd reacted, but there was still this oily dark _thing_ curled up in his gut that needed to be spat out. And it _was_ Kenshin's fault, at least a little bit.

"Yes, young master?"

"You know," he said, breath coming sharp and hard again, knowing that he was being cruel and too tangled up to care, "Do you know? How much _trouble_ you're causing for us?"

Kenshin didn't respond, not with words. But there was a sense of withdrawal, of a wounded animal searching for ground to go to, and Yahiko couldn't stop a snarl from escaping.

"Don't run away, _dammit!_" he snapped, and spun around the face the storehouse. He was far enough away now that he could see Kenshin framed in the barred windows, bangs falling forward to hide his eyes. "This is your fault, you know! All this is happening because – because she's _never_ gonna give up on you now, 'cause she made you a _promise_, and she'll keep it even if it _kills_ her. Do you understand that? _Can_ you? Do you care about anything that's happened? About what's happening to _her?_"

He kicked the step, hard, because it was that or stomp his foot and he was being enough of a child for today.

"I don't _get_ you!" he cried. "Do you got any idea how much she's putting on the line for you? And you just sit there, not doing anything – and Magumi and Kaoru say it's not your fault but I don't buy it, alright? I think you know, you just don't _wanna_. Like you're scared or something. Well, if you haven't figured out by now that _all she wants to do is help_ then you're never gonna, so you should do us all a favor and _leave_ if you're not going to try to meet her halfway a little, okay? Because the _only_ reason _any_ of this is happening is 'cause _she wants to protect you!_"

Yahiko glared up at him, fists clenched tight, and his nails dug into the skin of his palms. Kenshin stared back, eyes wide and pale through his bangs, looking like he'd just been slapped. Like Tsubame had, when he'd exploded at her; that same shocky, trembling look of a person who justdoesn't understand and never will because they've never felt that way; because asking them too was like asking a blind man to describe the color blue…

All of the anger suddenly ran out of his bones.

"Just… she's really trying, okay?" he muttered, looking away as his face flushed with shame. "I mean, I don't – I get it. I get what happened to you. I know I shouldn't blame you for it, but… I don't like it, okay? I don't like that she's doing so much for you when you're probably never gonna be able to give anything back. Not anything that counts, anyway."

He shook his head and started to turn around to leave. There was a low chuckle behind him. Yahiko froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

"I wouldn't," a deep voice drawled, rich with amusement. "We can't afford to have witnesses, after all. It'd be a shame if you got a good look at our faces when you have your whole life ahead of you."

"Hey," said a second voice, nasal and cackling. "Isn't he that girl's little brother or something? You think she might cooperate if we demonstrated the consequences on him, first?"

Yahiko closed his eyes, ignoring the threat, and tried to figure out how many there were. He could feel them standing behind him – two? Maybe three? – and he hadn't even _heard_ them, he'd been so busy yelling.

He didn't even have his practice sword.

"Hmm. You've got a point." Deep-voice, again. "Sorry, kid. If you hold still, it'll be over soon."

A meaty hand landed on his shoulder.

"Get fucked," Yahiko growled, and bit down on it. Warm copper burst across his tongue and the man attacking him howled, loosening his grip. Yahiko lunged forward and slammed his shoulder into his attacker's gut; he stumbled backward, and Yahiko ran for it. There were too many – and he had to warn Kaoru –

There were three of them: one short, squat fellow, clutching his hand; one rail-thin and grinning; and the last one heavily muscled. All of them had blades. Skinny stuck out his sheathed sword and tripped him. Yahiko rolled with the fall, grabbing a handful of dirt, and flung it up towards Muscle's face. He coughed, batting at the particles, and Yahiko tried to break right, away from Fatso. But Skinny had moved to block him and he found himself boxed in, with nowhere to go except back up the stairs to the storehouse.

"So much for the easy way," Skinny leered, unsheathing his sword and licking along the blade. "Well, at least we'll get to have _some_ fun."

Yahiko crouched, wild fear building inside him. His heart hammered loud in his chest and he bared his teeth.

No. Not his heart. Too loud for that.

The storehouse door. As if someone was throwing themselves against it, methodically, trying to force it open. Yahiko looked over his shoulder, eyes wide, in time to hear wood crack and see the door burst apart as Kenshin launched himself at the attackers.

* * *

Kaoru finished the dishes in record time, scrubbing them until her hands were raw. They'd never been so clean; she'd never felt so filthy. She ran her fingers ruefully over the chapped back of one hand, shaking her head. Well. There was no helping it.

She'd do a few kata before bed, tonight. Maybe it would help her sleep.

Her room was one the way to the training hall and she decided to walk outside, instead of through the halls. It was a wonderful night, with a charge in the air that spoke of a coming storm. Rain would be welcome; a storm even more so. The sound might lull her to sleep; and even if it didn't, at least she'd be able to watch it as she stayed up.

And then she thought of Kenshin, alone in the storehouse. Was the roof still sound? She thought so… what if he didn't like storms? What if…?

Kaoru shook her head and paused, torn between her room and practice clothes and going to check on Kenshin. She decided on Kenshin, first; check on him, make sure the storehouse roof wasn't going to leak, and then train.

She had just passed the bathhouse, absorbed in her thoughts, when she realized that she wasn't the only one breathing in the shadows and froze.

"Who's there?"

A figure emerged from the shadows: a monster of a man, flanked by half a dozen others, all armed with blades and leering at her. Kaoru took a step back, thinking over the distance between her current position and the training hall – just far enough to be dangerous – and cast her senses out, hoping she could detect anyone standing between her and the hall. There didn't seem to be; it seemed that they were relying on a show of force, not their wits.

Kihei stepped out from the giant's wake. A silent snarl wrenched itself from her throat.

"I do apologize for the interruption, Miss Kamiya," he smarmed. "I had hoped to do this through legal means, but you did insist on being stubborn. You brought this on yourself, you know."

Kaoru didn't wait around for the festivities to start. She bolted for the training hall, the giant and his thugs hot on her heels. She had just enough time to grab a wooden sword from the rack before they caught up with her. The giant advanced; the thugs hung back, block the exits.

"So…" he sneered. "You're the little girl who's been giving my brother so much trouble. Not much to look at, are you?"

She brought to sword down in front of her in a ready stance, keeping her gaze level even as her heart tried to hammer its way out of her chest.

"Why don't you come and find out?"

He grinned, yellowed teeth flashing in the dim light.

"Don't mind if I do."

He charged. She stepped neatly to one side, striking at his wrist; the hit was clean, but he was wearing gauntlets under his sleeves and she only cracked the armor. He recovered quickly and slashed at her side; she spun away just in time, feeling the tip of his blade catch and tear through the side of her kimono. Kaoru thrust at his kidneys and hit a rib instead. The bone gave way with a crack, and he roared with laughter.

"I suppose I have to take you seriously now!"

He raised his blade and struck down at her head; she blocked it, barely, but her wooden sword splintered uselessly in her hands. She stared at the remains for a moment – a moment more than she could afford – and the giant grabbed her with one hand by the front of her kimono and lifted her straight off the ground. Kaoru kicked out, clawing at his hands, but his arm was too long and her legs were too short to hit him.

"Well, that was more interesting than I thought it would be," he said, smug with triumph. "But something tells me that you haven't learned your lesson yet, have you, little girl?"

"Go… to hell…" she choked out, vision dimming. "Won't… get away with it…"

The giant just laughed, and she had never felt this helpless before. He turned to face his thugs, holding her up like a prize, displaying her like the enemy's captured flag.

"Well? Who here wants the first taste?"

Outside, the storm broke.

* * *

Kenshin hit the three men like a tsunami. They were armed and he wasn't, but that didn't seem to matter one bit; he sent Fatso flying ass-over-teakettle with a careless toss and slammed the blade of his hand into Muscle's neck in the same movement. The blow became a grab, and suddenly Muscle was on the ground, clutching his throat and coughing.

Skinny had time to draw his sword and try to strike. Kenshin caught his wrist and twisted him off his feet, slamming him into the ground. Then the man's sword was in Kenshin's hand.

Yahiko scrambled back reflexively as Kenshin turned to him, the blade gleaming in the lantern light pouring from the storehouse doors. The three men were either unconscious or smart enough to stay down. Kenshin stared down at Yahiko, eyes not dull. Not dull at all.

"Kaoru," Yahiko said, forcing himself onto shaking feet. "Have to warn – "

But Kenshin was already flying across the yard, sword in hand. Yahiko followed as fast as he could, leaving the three thugs to their own devices. The sky opened up with a peal of thunder as the long-promised storm poured down, turning the ground to splattered mud.

* * *

Kaoru was blacking out. That was probably a mercy. The giant still had her hoisted in his hand for now, but the thugs were gathering around her with leers that had nothing to do with bloodlust. Despite it all, her lungs still gasped for air; the reflex to _breathe_ was too strong and there was just enough slack in the giant's grip to prevent her from passing out.

He looked up at her, smirking, and she realized that he was doing it on purpose. To keep her from doing anything but breathing.

"Now, now, no pushing," he said, almost jovially. "Wait your turn. There's plenty to go around."

He began to lower her to the floor, and all hell broke loose. The men closest to the doors screamed; the screams were cut short and they went flying in a flurry of bodies and blood spattering against the wood. There was a flash of lightning and she saw flame-red hair slithering through the mob, leaving devastation in its wake. In the space between the lightning and the thunder the thugs were all tossed against walls or thrown to the floor, and the next flash revealed only Kenshin standing in the center of the training hall, blood dripping off his sword.

_No…_ she had time to think, and then the giant threw her aside. The impact of the wall on her back knocked the breath from her and she slid to the ground, coughing.

"Well…" the giant rumbled. "So much for obsolete!"

He charged, raising his sword above his head and Kenshin was suddenly _gone_. Kaoru forced her head up in time to see the giant's eyes raise towards the ceiling: in time to see Kenshin falling towards him like a meteor and she wanted to turn away from the spray of blood and brains that she knew would follow but she _would not_ –

The sword hit and the giant fell, skull still intact. No blood.

_...what?_

Kaoru lay stunned as Kenshin walked over to her, sword still loose in his hand. She squinted at it, barely able to make it out in the dim light and her own dizziness.

…_the blunt side… he reversed the blade…_

He looked down on her, eyes bright with something beyond rage or pain or fear: this is was not the frightened, unresponsive man she'd known. This was someone – someone who was no longer human. Emotionless and feral. The manslayer. _Kanryu's_ manslayer.

The sword rose, almost threatening her. She stared into his eyes, trying to understand.

"…Kenshin…"

His grip on the sword tightened and he took a step forward. Was he trying to kill her? Why? Had she –

And then she closed her eyes, because what did it matter anyway?

"…thank you," she said, and sighed.

* * *

Yahiko stumbled through the rain, legs shaking. Kenshin had outpaced him entirely. He heard shouts and muffled screams coming from the training hall and shoved a hank of hair from his face just in time to see the fat creep – Kihei – stumbled off the training hall porch.

Sano had a saying: there's a time to think and a time to act, and they're never the same time.

Yahiko flung himself at Kihei. There was no grace or discipline in the attack; it was pure dirty street fighting. He gouged and bit and kicked Kihei down to his knees, and then he did it some more, until he was damn sure that the little freak wasn't getting up again without a doctor's help.

When he finally had the fat creep lying facedown in the mud and moaning, he took a long look at his handiwork, at the bites and scratches and purpling bruises. There was a taste of blood in his mouth.

Then he threw up.

* * *

A thud, a clatter of steel on wood and her eyes flew open. The sword was lying a few feet away, still dripping blood, and Kenshin had fallen to one knee before her, head bowed.

"Mistress. Permit this worthless one to assist you."

"I…" Her eyes closed again, involuntarily. "No… Yahiko. Is Yahiko…?"

"The young master is safe," he said flatly.

"I need to see him." She forced herself up on her hands. "Where's Yahiko?"

Kenshin was at her side, then, easing her up. His hands were very warm.

"Yahiko!" she called. "Yahiko, where are you!"

"'m here." He stumbled into the hall, wiping his mouth. "Got the other bastard…"

"What?"

"Kihei. Got 'im."

The rain thrummed on the roof; the scent of blood and fear enveloped her and she shuddered, heat prickling under her eyelids. She tilted her head back to keep the tears inside.

"We have to get the police – no. Megumi. She'll know – I can't think right now, I'm sorry."

"I'll get her," Yahiko said, kneeling at Kaoru's side. Kenshin glanced at him for a moment, then looked away.

"But…"

"I'm not hurt, and I'm not a suspected killer," Yahiko pointed out, face pale. His hands were shaking. "Please – let me do this."

"…Yahiko." She grabbed her student's hand. "_Be careful_."

"Always," he said. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, looking at Kenshin. Some silent communication seemed to pass between them. Then he took off running.

"Kenshin… could you help me up, please?"

He slid his arms around her and picked her up. She considered protesting; then she gave up and let him carry her out of the hall and into the rain. It beat down in almost a solid mass, soaking her through to the skin in the short time it took to walk from the training hall to the covered porch. By the time they made it inside she was shivering, and not only from cold; she couldn't seem to stop seeing the men clustered around her, reaching for her like starving dogs for a bone.

A hot tear ran down her face and she wiped at it.

"Kenshin, put me down – I need to get out of these clothes before I catch cold." Keeping her voice even took almost more effort than she had to spare. He set her down gently and stood back. She took a few steps and then her knees buckled under her.

He knelt at her side again, hands warm on her elbow and the small of her back.

"Mistress."

"_Don't_," she said, and the tears were flowing freely now. It was all tangling together: the men and Kenshin and blood on her father's floor. "I – please. Just…"

He withdrew, leaving the room. Something small and terribly young inside her cried at the loss of human contact. She forced it away, because that wasn't the point – because she had no right to ask anything of him, even now, because he'd _have_ to do it.

And then he came back. She looked up to see him carrying the blanket from her room; he draped it around her and tucked it under her chin, still blank-eyed and expressionless: but his hands were very gentle. Then he backed away and sat against a wall, one knee drawn up and the other folded underneath, watching her.

"Kenshin…"

She snuggled into the blanket despite herself.

"Thank you," she said again.

* * *

The night passed in a blur of calming tea and police uniforms and Megumi's voice snapping orders and invective. Sano arrived shortly before Megumi and folded her into a bear hug, shaking; she was glad to let him. Yahiko came back with Megumi and the terribly cowed police a little while later, and Sano pulled him into the hug before he could protest. Kenshin watched them from the across the room, and she was too tired to try and read his eyes.

He hadn't actually killed anyone. The thugs were badly injured, and several of them would never be able to hold a sword again: there were enough lost fingers to make two whole hands. But he hadn't killed. He'd kept to his orders and he hadn't killed.

The officer who'd delivered the news had looked slightly stunned as he'd said it.

Eventually, everything was sorted out: the Hiruma brothers were carted off, Megumi returned to the clinic after leaving Kaoru a packet of sedative tea and strict instructions for its use, and Sano told Kaoru and Yahiko to go to bed, because he'd stand guard for the rest of the night.

Kaoru had recovered enough by then to make it to bed on her own. Kenshin followed her, two steps behind and one to the left. She didn't protest when he failed to wait outside for her to change, mostly because she didn't plan to bother with changing into her sleep clothes. Instead she stumbled over to her mattress, still wrapped in the blanket, and collapsed in a curled heap.

Kenshin settled himself behind his screen, and she slept the whole night through.


	7. such an almighty sound

**A/n: I was super excited to write this chapter and you'll figure out why about fifteen hundred words in. :D****  
**

* * *

It was a grey day, very windy. Kaoru's hair whipped around her face and caught in her mouth as she walked home from the market, Kenshin a solid, silent presence behind her. The wind tugged at him, too, but he didn't try to keep his clothing straight or his hair out of his eyes.

Kaoru finally stopped halfway across the bridge, snarling as she undid her ribbon and yanked her hair back. So what if pulling back her bangs made her face look pinched?

"Stupid _wind_," she muttered, retying the ribbon. "Who gave it permission…?

She thought she saw Kenshin almost smile, in the corner of her eye. When she looked at him fully he was as expressionless as ever, but…

He'd been different since that night two weeks ago. Not better – he was still quiet and watchful and absolutely obedient – but different. He still did exactly as he was told, without hesitation or complaint; he cooked and stood guard and helped around the house and it didn't seem like anything had really changed, if you looked at the surface; yet it had, on some far deeper level.

The morning after the attack she'd come into the dining room to find him kneeling by the rice bucket next to the table. She and Yahiko served themselves, usually; if they had company over then it fell to her, as the oldest woman of the house, to keep everyone's bowl filled. His head had been bowed, bangs covering his eyes, and she hadn't been sure what it meant or what to do about it so she'd settled herself in her usual spot, eyeing him warily.

He'd picked up a bowl, filled it with rice, and held it out to her; she'd taken it, uncertain, and thanked him softly. There'd been no response, not even a flicker of his eyelids, but he'd stayed by the table for the rest of breakfast: the first time that he'd ever been present during a meal.

And there had been more things like that, little things, like a hot bath ready and waiting when she got home from giving lessons or a plate of riceballs left at the training hall door when she was running late and didn't have time for lunch. _You've got to watch out for when they start taking liberties_, that horrible old vegetable seller had said, _even helpful ones; most times it leads to 'em getting ideas above their station…_

She'd asked Megumi about it, about what it could mean, and Megumi had said that it could be what the old man had claimed. That he was coming back to himself, slowly, testing the limits of her authority in the safest way he could and waiting for the confidence to pull away. It could also be that his bond to her was deepening: that he was becoming more loyal, more trusting. Either were good outcomes, and regardless of which one it was the best thing she could do would be to act as though nothing had changed and his behavior wasn't anything to remark on. To wait a little while and let things settle. Then start offering him choices, small ones, and see if he could make them – if he was willing to make them. Nothing drastic or open-ended, just choices between one thing or another, and then see how he responded.

So she'd asked, today, if he wanted to go to market with her or take the laundry in. He'd hesitated for a moment, tilting his head forward so that his eyes were hidden, and said _mistress, this worthless one will accompany you_.

Such a small thing to be so happy about. But it was _progress_, finally; it was a _choice_ and he'd _made_ it and her heart had swollen in her throat, caught somewhere between joy and tears.

Yahiko wasn't with them. He'd been working longer hours at the Akabeko, saying that he was saving up for something and no, he wasn't going to tell her what is was because it was none of your business, _ugly_. He'd been quiet since the night of the attack – quiet for him, anyway. She'd knew why: she'd seen Kihei a few days afterwards, at the formal inquiry before the trial. His face had been a mass of bruises, one eye still swollen shut, and he'd flinched a little when he saw Yahiko. She'd expected her student to smirk back, proud of his accomplishment; instead his mouth had twisted briefly downwards and he'd looked away, eyes dark.

Sano had been at the inquiry too, leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed over his chest and glowering at the Hiruma brothers as they knelt below the judge and the prosecutor. Promising, silently, that no amount of money could save them, that if the legal system didn't get them then _he_ damn well would. It hadn't been necessary – they'd been caught in the act, after all; even wealth can't save someone from bald stupidity – and Officer Ryunosuke had sealed their fate by testifying that he'd discovered that a member of his squad was taking payments from them. They'd run this kind of scam before, apparently, and the young policeman had flushed with angry embarrassment as he described his subordinate's misdeeds.

The trial, scheduled for a few months later, was largely a formality. The brothers would be held in Edo jail until then.

Officer Ryunosuke had caught up to her in the hallway after the inquiry and apologized, still red-faced. He had been genuinely sorry, that was the worst part – he'd blamed himself, for not realizing sooner that one of his officers was on the take. If he had figured things out just a bit sooner, she wouldn't have been attacked in her own home; everything that had happened had been his fault, he'd said, because he wasn't quick enough. And she'd managed to accept his apology gracefully right up until he'd bowed again, a little bashfully, and said _it's a damn good thing you have such a loyal slave, Miss Kamiya. He's a credit to your skills._

She'd had to excuse herself, then, before she did something stupid. He'd told her to come to him if she ever needed help again, that she had an ally in the police now whenever she needed one, and she'd smiled and nodded and managed to walk away instead of running. Because it was a _good_ thing that Ryunosuke had done by apologizing and offering to make it right, an honorable and upright thing, and yet he could look at Kenshin and see only a loyal animal. Only a slave.

_So many believe, absolutely, that slavery is the natural order of things_, Megumi had said. _It's always been this way, after all; if it was wrong, someone would have changed it. There are reasons, of course, there are always reasons, but what they all come down to is this: if slavery is wrong then so are __they__, and __they__ know that they're good people so slavery __must__ be right._

Kaoru sighed a little and readjusted her basket, hair pulled firmly into a tail at the back of her head. The wind picked up, snatching breath from her mouth.

"Jeez!" She angled herself away from the wind as she stood, bracing her hands against her hips and glaring up at the sky. "If you want to have a storm, then go ahead and have one! But make up your mind, already; all this playing around is getting old."

"Mistress," Kenshin said flatly from somewhere behind her.

"Yes?" She turned towards him, the wind nudging her back. His head was bowed and his hands were clenched tight into fists; she was instantly on alert, because she'd only seen him like this once before, when Kihei had tried to buy him, and even then the reaction hadn't been this strong.

"Forgive this worthless one – " he started to say, face pale and drawn under bangs, and then she saw the man coming towards them with a grim light in his eyes.

Her first, horrified thought was that it was Gohei, that he'd escaped or been set free: but it was gone in half a heartbeat because the only thing this man had in common with Gohei was sheer size. Gohei had been blunt-featured and bearded. This man's face was angular and clean-shaven, and he wore a white cloak over his shoulders that swept out behind him, snapping in the wind.

There was a sword at his waist.

"Mistress," Kenshin said again, and fear shot through her because his voice was taut, on the verge of cracking, and his entire body was shaking as he stared at the ground. She looked back at the stranger, at the cold look in his eyes as he focused on Kenshin, and the fear sharpened into steel.

Kaoru stepped in front of Kenshin and hit the man with her best glare. The wind tore at her clothing, snatched at her hair and the breath that left her lungs, but she stood her ground even as the stranger finally fixed his eyes on her and his will bore down on hers. She would _not_ yield.

The stranger was strong, frighteningly so. Her chest ached with the effort of drawing in air under his relentless power; her legs were watery and weak and she wanted nothing more than to fall to the ground and try to hide from his inexorable gaze.

_The sword that protects is not permitted to fail_, she remembered, and her spirit surged out from the depths of her being. The stranger raised an eyebrow. Suddenly she could breathe again.

"You can't have him," she said, voice strong even though her mouth was dry. "I don't care who you are, or what you want, what your relationship to Kanryu was or what rights you think you have. He's not for buying, begging, borrowing or stealing. _You can't have him_."

Her heart pounded in the hollow of her throat. The stranger held her gaze for a moment longer, and she couldn't look away but neither would she allow herself to flinch. It was like staring into the heart of a raging wildfire – except that wildfires can't help their nature, and she _knew_ that this man was deciding whether or not she deserved to burn.

Then he snorted and flicked his eyes briefly away, breaking the connection. Her knees sagged a little, but she stayed on her feet.

"What I want," he rumbled, sounding almost amused, "is to know your name." Then he nodded over her shoulder, towards Kenshin. "And what connection you have with my former apprentice."

* * *

"…apprentice?" the girl repeated, very nearly squeaking in shock.

Hiko examined the young woman standing before him as the wind did its level best to tear him from his spot, assessing her surface and what that surface hid. She was putting up a good show, he'd give her that: to a lesser man she'd seem completely unafraid, and the world was full of lesser men. His former apprentice stood behind her, not quite cowering – some inner discipline was keeping him upright despite it all – but very, very close.

There was real fire in her eyes, and a will to protect that nearly smothered her fear entirely.

"Well?" he said. "I'm waiting."

"It's rude to demand someone's name before you introduce yourself," she snapped, recovering. "Who are you, and what do you mean by _apprentice?_"

"I asked first." He couldn't help smirking; it had been a while since anyone had stood up to him, and there was something genuinely amusing about watching the girl try to stare him down. Like an angry mother hen scolding a mountain cat for coming too close to her chicks. Lucky for her: if she had reacted any other way he would have wrenched the truth from her by force. But she had slid between him and his wayward student without a second thought and her soul had snarled in outrage when he tried to force her to step aside, as though he was someone precious to her. That was reason enough to reserve judgment, for now.

"…Kaoru Kamiya," she said grudgingly. "And Kenshin is – " She glanced back over her shoulder. "– Kenshin is under my protection."

Her face hardened as she turned back to him. "Tell me who you are and what you want," she demanded again, eyes fierce.

"Under your protection?" Hiko looked past her, taking in his apprentice fully – the slave-mark on his cheek, the crest on his clothes – and his mouth pulled down into a bitter frown. "How much did you pay for him, girl?"

"_Nothing_," she bit back. "He was abandoned. I found him, I held him, and I took title. Now answer my question."

There was no pride in her voice or in the lines of her soul. Quite the opposite, actually: she said the words as though they were bitter medicine, necessary but hateful, and her stance tightened like she was taking a mortal blow.

He made a disparaging noise deep in his throat, annoyed at the complication. Judging the situation rightly would involve having a conversation with the girl for however long it took him to determine her motives and intentions. Which meant he would have to engage in social niceties, if only to calm her down. Which meant that yes, he should probably introduce himself. Damn.

"Seijuro Hiko," he said shortly. "Thirteenth Master of the Hiten Mitsurugi style, and that idiot's teacher – or I was, until he ran away and got himself – well, you can see the result."

Kenshin grew paler as Hiko scrutinized him again. He hadn't quite believed the rumours when they'd first reached him: had, in fact, glowered at anyone who brought them to him until they trembled and ran away. No apprentice worthy of his school would have allowed themselves to be caught in such a way, after all, and he would never have chosen an apprentice unworthy of his school.

Even if, through some evil turn of events, the worst _had_ happened, he knew perfectly well that his lost student was _at the very least_ strong and dedicated enough to death-will himself rather than have his mind broken and his skills subverted. So, he had concluded, the rumours were simply that. Kenshin had run away; something had happened with that girl from the town, something dire that had convinced the melodramatic brat that he wasn't fit for the next stage of his training. Which wasn't an inaccurate assessment, if one failure was enough to send him running.

So perhaps Kenshin had fallen in with some bad company. Whether he snapped out of it or not was no concern of Hiko's. Half-trained as he was – without the final technique to show him the true price of strength – he would self-destruct sooner rather than later unless he came to his senses and stopped using his skill for evil purposes. If he did snap, he'd likely take the men he'd served with him. Problem solved.

And if he managed to come to his senses and return, Hiko would test him as all students of the Hiten Mitsurugi style were tested. The boy would pass or fail on his own merits and regardless of the outcome, _Kenshin's_ story would end. That was the true secret of the final technique: no matter who won the final match, the apprentice always died.

Then, a few weeks ago, word had reached him that his former student had left Kanryu's estate and taken up residence at a local sword school. That some local bully-boys had set their eyes on him, were trying to _steal_ him – and well, the rumours this time were too clear, too concise, too undeniable. Kanryu had kept much of his activities shrouded in misinformation and deception: it had been easy for Hiko to rationalize the conflicting stories away. This could not explained as anything other than what it was. This was truth. Kenshin had _failed_, as completely as a swordsman could, and as the boy's master it fell to him to do what needed to be done.

He'd left the very next day, resigned to the inevitable.

It had been easy to follow the rumours and learn the location of the minor school his failed pupil had washed up at. He'd planned to simply arrive, end the boy's suffering, and leave without getting any more involved than was absolutely necessary. When he'd seen Kenshin and the girl on the bridge he'd thought that he'd found the perfect opportunity.

Except the boy had _known_ he was coming. Had _responded_ – fear and grief and humiliation whirling in a vortex buried deeper in his heart than it should be, but far closer to the surface than it would have been if he was truly gone. If he was truly lost, he shouldn't have reacted at all.

That shouldn't have been enough to stay Hiko's hand: that shouldn't have mattered at all, because failure was failure and one did not fail to master the sword of heaven and live.

But it had been. So here he was, arguing with some slip of a girl nearly young enough to be his granddaughter on a bridge in the middle of a windstorm. This was why he never left the damn mountain if he could help it: no matter how carefully he planned things, he always seemed to get more involved than he'd meant to.

"I don't believe you," the girl said, snapping Hiko back into the present. He looked down at her, eyebrows raised.

"Excuse me?"

She crossed her arms and glared up at him.

"I-don't-be-lieve-you," she said again, over-enunciating each syllable as though she was talking to a particularly slow-witted child. Hiko blinked at her, trying to decide whether to be amused or offended. Her hair whipped straight out behind her as she stood against the wind, eyes watering slightly as it rushed past her.

"It's been at least ten years since – since this happened to him. If you were his teacher, why didn't you come for him sooner? Why wait ten years to find out what happened to your student?" She faltered on the first sentence, but her voice grew stronger as she spoke. "It's not like he would have been _that_ hard to find. Kanryu _showed him off_," and there was real heat in her voice, verging on hate, enough that he was momentarily taken aback, "so you can't expect me to believe that you didn't _know_. I'm not an idiot; I have a student of my own, you know. So stop lying to me and tell me what you really want."

Amused. He was definitely amused. A little offended, too, but primarily amused. Her eyes were bright with challenge, and at some point in her tirade she'd put her hands on her hips like an angry housewife. Hiko's lips twitched inadvertently.

"Why don't you ask my failure of a student, there?" he rumbled, and met his former apprentice's eyes.

"Mistress…" Kenshin said weakly, collapsing in on himself like a beaten cur. He dropped to his knees, face white and bloodless.

A muscle in Hiko's jaw jumped. Rage sang through his veins, quick and hot and pure, and it took a genuine effort of will not to draw his sword and – do something without fully contemplating all the available information. Which he would not do. Because he was the thirteenth master of the Hiten Mitsurugi style and such impulsivity was _beneath_ him.

The girl crouched down beside Kenshin, her eyes warm with concern. The boy reached out and grasped the hem of her kimono, pleading. Pain shot across her face, wrestled quickly down and away but he could see it lingering in her spirit: pain and rage, not at him but _for _him.

"It's alright, Kenshin," she said, soothing, hands outstretched as though she wasn't sure whether or not to touch him. "Everything will be fine. Excuse me, Mr. Hiko, but I need you to back up a bit." She looked up at him with a businesslike air and carefully masked worry in her eyes. "You're upsetting him."

Fury still seethed in his bones, but Hiko was perfectly capable of self-control and the girl was right. He took a few steps away, turning to look out at the river running to the ocean, and forced his wrath flow away with the rushing water and the roaring wind. It was not a productive emotion right now.

He let the feeling go: then he examined what was before him, with his eyes and with his heart, and did not let his visceral reactions factor in. Kenshin, bent and bowed, cringing like a nervous dog and the girl hovering just slightly above him. The wind tugged at their hair and clothes, sending leaves whirling past them and away into the sky. She was speaking softly to him, not quite petting him; he was struck by the sudden image of her sheltering him under outstretched wings. There was no triumph in her, no sense of ownership, only the absolute need to protect; as instinctive as breathing and just as necessary to her survival.

Whatever her role in this was, she hadn't been the one to reduce Kenshin to this.

So he turned his focus on the boy instead, expecting the worst. He found it. Submission and defeat were written in every line of Kenshin's body, and he held himself like an animal trying to evade a predator's gaze. And yet… his knuckles were white where he gripped her skirts and his jaw was tight. He didn't breathe like a frightened thing: if Hiko ignored his submissive posture, he could almost think that the boy had only briefly hit his limits in the middle of a match and was battling his way through them.

Something had happened to make Kenshin's mind a cage, but his soul was still alive within it.

With that realization, a knot that had been clenched tight and hard under Hiko's heart since he'd left his mountain eased slowly open. He was deeply irritated to discover that he was relieved.

"What happened to him?" he asked, surprising himself. He hadn't intended to speak.

The girl answered him without bothering to look up, still focused on the beaten man in front of her. "Takeda Kanryu happened," she said, bitterness sharpening her voice. "I don't know exactly how Kanryu got his hands on him, but… it's hardly your business, anyway."

"It is my business," he growled. "Kenshin was my student."

"Do we have to go over this again?"

A last, gentle whisper and Kenshin finally let go of her hem. She stood and faced Hiko, pride and cool fury settling on her shoulders like imperial raiment. "It's true that I haven't seen Kenshin respond so strongly to someone since he came into my care, but he's _frightened_. If you were his teacher, why is he afraid of you? And why did it take you so long to come find him?"

"That second question will take some time to answer," Hiko said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'd prefer to do it in a more private setting. As for the first…"

He looked fully at Kenshin again. Kenshin flinched.

"Look at me, boy," he barked. His wayward apprentice froze, briefly, and then – very slowly – he raised his face to meet Hiko's eyes once more. The girl watched it happen, sucking in a surprised breath.

"I am not here to hurt you, Kenshin," Hiko said, very carefully, and was surprised again to find that it was true. "I am here to discover the truth. That is all. Do you understand me, boy?"

Kenshin's eyes were wide, wide as they'd been as a child when Hiko had taken his name from him. For a split second he looked almost like himself again, standing innocently in the wind and waiting for his future to unfold.

Then the moment passed. But it was enough.

Kenshin lowered his head. His throat worked as he swallowed. The girl stared hard at Hiko, then at Kenshin, biting at her lower lip.

"He does know you," she said quietly. "He – he believes what you say."

"As I told you, girl, I was his teacher." Hiko crossed his arms. "If he's frightened of me, it's because he thinks he's failed." _And will be punished accordingly_, he didn't say, but he suspected that the girl heard it anyway.

Kenshin's fists clenched. The girl's eyes, seeing his reaction, hardened. The wind flipped her ponytail across her face and she pushed it over her shoulder, frowning.

"And do _you_ think he's failed?" she asked in a voice like stone.

"That," he said evenly, "remains to be seen. Now, unless you intend to have us stand here talking all day in this damnable wind, where anyone can hear," he gestured broadly, "I would suggest that we retire to somewhere more civilized."

"…fine." She pushed her hair back again and smiled sweetly, with only the tiniest hint of poison.

"Mr. Hiko," she said, one hand on her canted hips. "Would you do me the honor of joining me for a cup of tea?"

* * *

The girl's home was fairly large but a touch run-down; she'd clearly been managing alone for some time. Patches of new wood and paint on the walls and roof made it clear that she'd been unable to afford the cost of proper repairs, instead only addressing the worst problems as they arose. The sign at the gate announced that it was the location of the first school of the Kamiya Kasshin style.

Kenshin had stayed close to the girl as they walked, cleaving to her like a second shadow. Never touching, but never more than a handspan away. He kept his eyes cast down and Hiko knew enough to recognize it as standard protocol for a slave; yet it grated at his nerves, made him want to snap at the boy to keep his damn chin up. A swordsman bows only to the deserving.

Except that Kenshin wasn't a swordsman anymore. He was nothing but a guard dog. On a good day.

The girl sent Kenshin off to finish some chores – _take in the laundry_, he thought he heard her say as the wind blustered particularly hard – and invited him inside. The interior, at least, was well-kept, modest and clean and with none of the frou-frou Western knickknacks that had become increasingly fashionable over the past decade or so. He'd even had people try to commission "Western-style" pottery from him, of all things. Those requests had gone straight into the kindling without a second glance.

The parlor that she showed him to was graceful and subtle. Its alcove held a single ink painting of reasonable quality and a spray of plum blossoms. Quite appropriate; the cherry trees were late this year. The room was in the lee of the wind, and the exterior doors were open to the porch and a small courtyard with a potted hydrangea and decorative stone basin to catch the rainwater off the roof. It was quite full from the recent storms. He could just see the school's training hall from his seat in front of the alcove. There were no students; this fit what he'd heard, that the school was young and had yet to gain any significant reputation.

"Pardon the wait," the girl said as she entered the room, holding a lacquered tray bearing a teapot and two cups. "Many thanks for your patience."

Well, at least she _could_ be polite, if she so chose. He was hardly in a position to throw stones where selective courtesy was concerned.

"It was nothing," he returned, playing along. "A wait in such a pleasant room is no trouble at all."

"You're too kind," she said, kneeling and pouring out the tea. "My home is very humble. Would you care for a cup?"

"Please." He took the clay cup from her, noting its quality. A solid piece of craftsmanship, uninspired but well-executed. It fit the feel of the home: struggling but dependable, rooted firm in its history. The tea was of reasonable quality, too, if a tad oversteeped. He complimented it anyway.

After they'd each drunk a little and exchanged more ritual pleasantries – and he _did_ have to admire her insistence on observing the proper forms even in such unusual circumstances, although he suspected that she was mostly stalling – he set his half-empty cup down on the tray and let his hands rest on his knees.

"That being said, I would like to know how you came to have my former student – 'under your protection,' wasn't that the phrase?"

She glanced down, turning her cup uneasily in her hands, and he saw her swallow.

"I – well. I'm – " A blush crept up her cheeks. "It's difficult to know where to begin."

"Begin at the beginning," he said, not unkindly, because she'd done nothing to warrant cruelty. "That _is_ traditional."

"Right." She took a quick breath. "About five weeks ago, I was coming home from training at the Maekawa school. My own school is very small, you see, and since my father died – well, I can't train at my own level without going to another school." She flushed a little at the admission. "But Mr. Maekawa is an old friend, and he lets me train there. Anyway. I was coming home along the river and passing by one of the old docks when I heard a noise…"

Hiko listened to the story: how she had found Kenshin, brought him home and tended to his wounds. What she had convinced him of, all unknowing – and he watched her very carefully when she reached that part, searching for any hint of a lie and finding none. She _had_ been ignorant, then. She stumbled when she tried to explain her choice to him; he knew, without her fumbling words, the pity and rage and sense of duty that had driven her. He'd been much the same way, once. So had Kenshin.

Her explanation of her friends, the doctor and the street fighter, had holes in it that he could have driven a herd of oxen through. She was concealing something; but the doctor's advice seemed sound, assuming that the explanation she'd offered was true – and if it was true, then he _did_ have cause to involve himself.

Slavery had been part of Japan for long enough that most had forgotten that things hadn't always been this way. The Hiten Mitsurugi of the time had been unable to stop the system of chattel slavery when it first arose: the style was always weakest in the first few years after a new master took on the mantle, and by the time the eighth master had come to terms with what he'd done and what his new role must be it was already too late. Slavery was simply how things were done.

The Hiten Mitsurugi was a free sword, Hiko's own master had told him when he taught Hiko that part of the history. It must stand alone: it does not lead rebellions or aid governments, lest it be compromised by politics and the impure motives of corruptible men. In a situation such as the eighth master faced, the sword of heaven could do nothing. Not without taking a side.

But this – if it was true that this Kanryu had found a way to truly destroy a person's _humanity_, to rob them of their soul – then he would have to intervene simply to restore the balance. Slavery was, in the end, only a human evil. This was something else entirely.

"And this Dr. Takani, she believes that Kenshin may be fighting off the conditioning?"

"Maybe. Or maybe it was never really done properly to begin with. I mean, she says that – that he was the first person to actually _survive_. So it might not have been done quite… right. But…" She shrugged. "Whichever it is, he's the only person who knows, and he's not – he _can't_ tell anyone."

"But you're trying to help." Hiko let a strain of skepticism enter his tone, testing her, and she flushed even deeper.

"I know – I know it sounds really, really bad," she said quickly. "But – I mean, it kind of makes sense, a little, and it seems to be working. If I didn't think it was helping I would have stopped, but he's – I think he _is_ starting to trust me a little, maybe, or he might just feel safe enough to start rebelling. He made a decision today, you know. He couldn't even do that much, at first. Not a _big_ one, but…"

She spread her hands open, eloquent in her despair. He saw in her eyes how much it hurt her, to rejoice over his ability to do something so simple, so human; how bitter the triumph was when weighed against the work yet to be done and the fact that it needed to be done at all.

The girl sighed. "I just wish I knew – that I knew how he ended up there in the first place. Megumi doesn't know. No one seems to. If I had some idea, then, maybe – maybe there's some clue in his past, something I can use…"

Her hands folded tight around her teacup as she gazed at the matting, and her eyes were too old for her face.

"…I just wish I knew."

The wind was picking up again. The sound it made as it rustled the treetops was like a box of parchment, or a woman's skirts. It had begun with a woman, hadn't it? Not much older than this girl kneeling before him, this girl who wore compassion and pride like armor.

Hiko didn't sigh. It wasn't in his nature. But he did exhale, long and thoughtful, and watch the wind toss leaves and debris. There would be another storm by nightfall. It had been an odd spring: so many fierce storms, as if the rainy season had come early.

"His parents didn't name him Kenshin," Hiko said finally. The girl looked up, and yes, there was that spark of hope he'd expected to see. Why he was feeding it – well, he had his reasons, and he certainly knew what they were. He just didn't see the need to put words to them yet.

"When I met him," he continued, "he had a different name, far too gentle for a swordsman. So I named him Kenshin and even that early on, he knew better than to argue about it…"

* * *

Kaoru kept her eyes fixed on the stranger's face as she listened to his story. Kenshin's story. Outside, the wind rattled over rooftops and tossed tree branches from side to side as if they were strands of gossamer cloth.

"He came from a very small village in southern Japan, one that specialized in the production of red dye. The name doesn't matter; it's gone now, wiped out by a cholera epidemic. Kenshin was the only survivor. I found him in the ruins. He'd buried them all, every last one, and found markers for each grave."

She could see it: a small child with ruddy hair lying limp against his skin, laboring with empty eyes under a relentless blue sky. And she could imagine how he'd felt that day, when the world ended: when he'd woken up and realized that he was now and always _alone_. As she had, that first day after she'd learned that her father was never, ever coming home and every day after that, until Sano had washed up at her door and put an end to loneliness.

The tea in her cup trembled, slightly, and she set it on the tray with careful motions. The stranger – Mr. Hiko – had the grace not to comment.

"It impressed me," he said, after some time had passed. "I was reaching the point in my career where it seemed the proper time to take on an apprentice. He was rather small, but his heart and mind were strong. And as you know, _teacher_," his eyes seemed to glint sardonically, "physical force is the least important of the three strengths; a deficiency there can always be overcome."

"I do," she said softly. She'd been able to count Yahiko's ribs when he first came to her, but his eyes had glowered out from under his tangled mop of black hair, full of anger, and she'd known that he needed what she had to give.

"So I took him in," Mr. Hiko continued. "I taught him to the best of my considerable ability, and as time passed it became clear that he would be a true successor to my style."

"The Hiten Mitsurugi," she said, stumbling a little over the name. "You know, I've never heard of it…?"

"And I've never heard of yours," he said tartly. Heat flooded her face. "It dates back to the time of the warring states," he said, seeming to relent a little. "If you've never heard of it, that's only to be expected. There are only ever two practitioners at a time: the master and his apprentice. We rarely involve ourselves in outside affairs."

"I see," she said, and couldn't quite keep a certain cynicism from her voice. There were styles like that, holding themselves apart from the world for fear of becoming corrupted by it. Her father, as a rule, had never badmouthed anyone in his life; but he _had_ had a particular way of sighing when he was very deliberately not saying what was on his mind. And he had always sighed that way when the subject of those styles came up, remarking later, in private, on the dangers of spending too much time in one's own head.

Mr. Hiko quirked an eyebrow at her, clearly picking up on her reaction and just as clearly choosing to let it go.

"At any rate." He shifted, resting his chin on one hand, and his eyes grew vaguely unfocused, as though he was watching events unfold on some internal stage. "There was a town near our home in the mountains where we went once a month for supplies. And there was a girl, a samurai's daughter named – " He frowned. "You know, I don't think I ever bothered to learn it. The family name was Yukishiro, I believe. She was a few years older than Kenshin, engaged to the son of a fellow I had a business arrangement with. We visited them enough that Kenshin started to get to know her, and became rather attached to her. I didn't see the harm in it. The boy's always known right from wrong, and she seemed like a sensible girl. Besides," he smirked, "he'd reached the point where he needed to learn that you can't always get what you want."

He was smirking, but his eyes told a different story: there was something ancient and angry and utterly hard underneath the mocking glint. _He blames himself_, she understood abruptly. _For not realizing that it was more than just a crush._

She thought for a moment that she should say something, as one teacher to another if nothing else, but he kept right on talking before she could think of anything.

"I'm not sure exactly what happened," he said bluntly. "Her fiancée, Akira, fell ill. Needed some sort of treatment that his parents couldn't afford. Kenshin got this notion in his head about helping her raise the money for it. I told him no, that it would interfere with his training. We argued, he left, and the next I heard about any of it was that the girl was dead and Kenshin had disappeared."

"Disappeared?" She frowned as she echoed him. "How old was he?"

"Fourteen, by my estimate." He shrugged. "He wasn't sure of his own age when I found him. But he was young. I began to hear rumours that he'd fallen in with this Takeda Kanryu shortly afterward."

Her eyes widened and she clasped her hand to her mouth in shock as she realized what it meant. _Fourteen_. He'd been about fourteen when Kanryu had taken him – barely older than Yahiko – not even of _age_…

"Excuse me," she said, and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. There was a sudden bloom of copper on her tongue and she forced herself to swallow it rather than spit. The pain and the foul taste cut through the horror, and she picked up her tea again and took a slow sip. Mr. Hiko waited patiently.

The world stopped trying to tilt and throw her off, eventually. It took less time than it had on previous occasions and she wondered, dismayed, if she was actually getting _used_ to evil tidings.

Another sip of tea and then she straightened her spine, forcing her shoulders back.

"Please, continue."

"That's all there is," he said, with a certain fatalism in his voice. "I didn't believe the rumours, when they reached me – that he'd been taken as a slave. Perhaps if I had – but if it had been your student, would you have believed such a thing?"

It was a rhetorical question. He wasn't actually asking for her absolution, or her understanding: yet she couldn't stop herself from imagining just that. If Yahiko disappeared, and she'd heard a rumor that he'd fallen in with evil company…

"I would have gone after him," she said, raising her eyes to meet his gaze. "Even if I didn't _want_ to believe, I would have gone and seen for myself. And if they _were_ true, I would have found a way to bring him home."

He regarded her strangely for a moment in that same way Megumi sometimes did, as if she was an unexpected variance in the normal function of the universe. Then he snorted.

"You actually mean what you're saying, don't you?" He shook his head a little, black mane falling over his shoulders. "I wouldn't have thought it possible, in this day and age…"

There was a knock on the wood of the shoji.

"Mistress," came Kenshin's voice from the hallway, and she tensed because there was _distress_ written plain in his voice for anyone to hear. "There is a messenger."

Kaoru blinked, frowning.

"…what on earth?" she muttered aloud. "Excuse me a moment," she said, bowing slightly to Mr. Hiko. He raised an eyebrow at her, but made no objection. Not that she would be inclined to care if he did.

She stood and slid the door open. Kenshin was kneeling in the hall, drawn tight as a bowstring; some of the tension seemed to ease when he saw her.

"What messenger?" she asked him, careful to keep her voice soft.

"From – " and his voice actually _broke_. He clenched at the cloth covering his thighs. "From Takeda Kanryu's estate. Mistress."

Her blood froze in her veins and she stared down at him, huddling at her feet. His hand reached out as if to grasp her hem again, and then twitched deliberately away, curling against his side as if he was cradling a wound.

"Kenshin…"

She didn't know what to do. Whether to leave him be, or try to talk him through it, or –

No, that wasn't so. She _did_ know what to do. She'd done it before.

Carefully, all too aware of Mr. Hiko's eyes boring into her, she reached out and rested her hand on the top of his head. He seemed to lean into her touch; she let her fingers trail through his hair and down the side of his face. Kenshin turned towards her hand, eyes closed, his brow knotting in a pained look that was more expression than she'd ever seen from him.

"You are not Kanryu's," she told him gently. "_This_ is your home; this is where you belong. That won't change. You don't have any reason to be afraid. Didn't I promise you that you would always have a place here, no matter what?"

"Yes, mistress," he murmured, and she felt the heat of his breath against her palm. Her heart ached.

"Have I given you any reason to believe I'll break that promise?"

"No, mistress." His eyes slitted open, strange and pale and shifting.

"Then don't be afraid."

For a long moment, Kenshin didn't respond. He only pressed his face against her hand, eyes nearly closed, and the hand wrapped around his waist eased slowly away.

"…yes, mistress," he said finally. The fear was gone, but the impassivity hadn't returned. He sounded almost – almost human. "Please forgive this worthless one."

"It's alright." She took her hand away and almost thought he sighed at the loss of contact. Her throat was tight with grief and she wanted desperately to throw her arms around him and _will_ him whole again.

Fourteen years old. He'd been _fourteen years old_.

"The messenger insists on speaking to you, mistress," Kenshin said, and his voice still carried that bare trace of humanity.

"Very well, then." She drew herself up. "Mr. Hiko, will you excuse me while I attend to this?"

Mr. Hiko was eyeing her again. She indulged in the brief, exasperated wish that someone would just _tell_ her what was so strange, for once; it was awfully wearing, being examined.

"Go ahead," he rumbled. "I'll wait."

"Kenshin, would you…?"

Kenshin was already getting to his feet. He turned smoothly, emotionless once more, and led her down the hall. She followed, bracing herself for – well, she didn't know what, precisely, except it was absolutely guaranteed to be unpleasant. It couldn't be an overt threat, at least; she would have heard the fighting.

The messenger was waiting at the gate, wearing a simple outfit with a crest she didn't recognize: a spider on a burning web. He stood unnaturally at attention, eyes fixed at some distant point on the horizon, and didn't react at all until she was close enough to speak to. Then he bowed mechanically and she saw the slave brand on his cheek.

"Mistress Kaoru Kamiya?" he asked. His voice was rote and expressionless, as bad as Kenshin's had been when he'd first arrived, and his eyes were utterly without humanity.

"That's me," she said, hiding her horror. "May I ask your business?"

"My master begs the honor of your company, mistress," the messenger said, and held out an envelope. Kaoru stared at it, blood rushing in her ears, and everything seemed suddenly very far away.

"…my company…?"

The messenger didn't say anything further. He just held the envelope out until she finally convinced stiff muscles to move and took it from him, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger as if it was something foul. The messenger made no further movement.

"Is that all?"

"This worthless one is instructed to await your response, mistress," he recited, still staring past her. She suppressed a shudder and, uncertain of what else to do, broke the letter's seal. There was a single invitation within, beautifully handwritten on heavy paper the color of fresh cream. The ink glimmered slightly and she realized that there were golden flakes in it. It said – well, what the messenger had said. Takeda Kanryu wanted to meet with her. A week from now. For _tea._

A hysterical laugh tore its way out of her throat before she could stop herself and she clamped her free hand over her mouth, muffling it. The blood drained from her face and she started to breathe hard and heavy, gulping in air as her lungs suddenly ran dry.

"I – I see," she managed to gasp, her fingers trailing down her face to rest where her pulse beat rabbit-fast in the hollow of her throat.

"I – have no response for him – at this time," she choked out. "Please return – return – " She had to talk to Sano, to Megumi, they had to _plan_ this, she had never expected this and she didn't know what to _do_ – "Tomorrow. Come back tomorrow, please. I'll know by then if I'm free."

_Or if I need to flee the country_, she thought, trying to keep her panic reigned in.

The messenger bowed again.

"Yes, mistress. This worthless one will return tomorrow for your answer."

He left, walking in slow, even strides, and tears built behind her eyes, hot and aching. Kaoru turned to walk back in the house, nauseous with fear. She made it as far as the door before she had to stop, lean against the wall, and breathe.

"Mistress?" Kenshin was at her side, then, one hand hovering just above her elbow. She could feel him there, not quite touching.

"Kenshin." She gasped for air like a landed fish. "Kenshin. Can you – do you remember where the clinic is?"

He'd visited there, accompanying her to call on Megumi, although he'd never left the house alone before. But – desperate times and all that – and after all, he'd made so much _progress_ lately –

She bit back another hysterical giggle.

"Yes, mistress."

"I need you," another gulping breath. "I need you to go to the clinic and fetch Megumi, okay? Tell her to get Sano – and everyone else – tell her it's about Kanryu. Tell her it's important. We need to meet soon, within the hour – can you do that for me?"

"Yes, mistress." His eyes were paler than usual; sharper, somehow.

"_Hurry_."

He was already bolting out the gate. Kaoru made it back to the parlor without collapsing, although just barely. Mr. Hiko looked genuinely alarmed when he saw her face.

"What happened?" he asked, putting a hand on the sword resting at his side. Kaoru sank gratefully onto a seating-cushion – which did not, technically, count as falling to the floor.

"Takeda Kanryu invited me to tea," she said numbly, and didn't burst into tears.


	8. never could go back

**A/n: IMPORTANT SCHEDULING NOTES.**

**So, I'm in my third year of law school and coming up on exams; furthermore, I'm getting ready for the bar. With that in mind, there will be some changes to the update schedule.**

**The next update for _Invictus_ will be the weekend of MAY 25th. The next updates for _Vaster Than Empires_ will be the weekend of MAY 4th and JUNE 1ST. **

**After that, I will be going on hiatus for my bar exam prep period, and for the test itself. This hiatus will end the weekend of AUGUST 10th. At that point, regular updates for both stories will resume.**

**I apologize for the disruption and hope you will bear with me. I am _not_ abandoning these stories; this is a _planned hiatus_ with a specific end-date, and I am going on it because I need to prioritize my real life over my fanfiction. Thank you all for your patience during this time.**

**This message will be reposted in my author's profile, and in the header for the next update to _Vaster Than Empires_ on MAY 4TH.**

**Also, you should check out my profile to see the new fanart that theDah has created for me. Is very good.**

* * *

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me?"

Sagara slammed his hand down on the table. Kenshin flinched away, although it wasn't aimed at him, and Kaoru took a moment to gently touch his shaking hand. "We're not fucking – we've gotta get the missy outta town, Fox, we don't have any other choice!"

"And what, precisely, will that accomplish?" Megumi asked archly, examining her nails and eyeing Hiko out of the corner of her eye. He had clearly given up on Sagara for the time being; he and Shinomori were speaking very quietly and intensely off in a corner, and perhaps she was imagining things but Shinomori looked almost uneasy.

"Getting her the fuck away from that fucking _animal!_" Sagara exploded. Again. He'd been on edge since the night that the Hiruma brothers attacked, furious with himself for failing and sick with guilt. Under other circumstances she would have welcomed a disturbance simply because it would give him something to do, something that wasn't stalking around like an offended cat looking for a fight.

But this would be Kaoru's battle, not his; he knew it, and that made his temper worse.

She waited for him to finish accusing Kanryu of performing biologically unlikely acts with horses before responding.

"Sagara. I know you have a brain in that head of yours, because _something_ keeps your hair from falling through your skull. What would happen if Kamiya disappeared?"

He glared at her. Megumi looked calmly back, and watched his eyes change as he started to _think_, instead of just reacting. She could almost follow his train of thought by the subtle shifts in color: pale with rage, at first, and darkening slowly to the usual deep brown as his mind caught up with his instincts. It was his only weakness, really, that he reacted without thinking. But it was that same passion that drew people to him; once he gave his loyalty, it was absolute.

"…_shit_," he said, and subsided into a brooding silence. Megumi turned to Kaoru.

"And you?" she asked. "Do you have any objections?"

"Not really," Kaoru said calmly. Kenshin was hunched a handsbreadth behind her left side, making himself small. He'd always had a gift for that, for closing himself down into a huddled ball of _please-don't_. Not that it had ever done him much good when Kanryu had been of a mind to torment him specifically; sometimes, though, it had deflected the worst of the more unfocused rages.

His fingers were gripping Kaoru's sleeve.

He was here, Kaoru had said, because he had a right to be. And – her eyes had added – because it would only frighten him more to be sent away.

"If Kanryu's interested in me, it'll only cause problems if I avoid him, right?" Kaoru was looking at her for confirmation. "I mean, if he's just curious, then getting upset will make him more so. And if he – if he knows something, or thinks it – it'll just confirm that there's something going on. So it's better to act as though – as though nothing's wrong."

"Correct," Megumi bit out. "Shinomori?" Both Hiko and Shinomori looked at her, and she jerked her head towards Sagara. "He's ready to talk sense now."

Shinomori inclined his head once and moved over. Hiko remained where he was, eyeing her as carefully as she was eyeing him. She wondered what Kaoru had told him; she wondered if he knew who they were, other than her friends. She wondered what he thought of them.

Kenshin's teacher. Kenshin's past. He had been only her fellow victim for so long that she could almost believe that he _had_ no past, that he had emerged fully-formed from the stink and mire of the training pens, willed into being by Kanryu's malice and dreams of godhood. But here it was, at long last: proof that he had been a different person before Kanryu had remade him. That he might have a _self_ to return to, if he had the strength.

It didn't matter to Sagara, except in an abstracted way because it would matter to Kaoru. It would never matter to Shinomori. But it mattered to her, and she wondered if Kaoru had told him, if Hiko knew who _she_ was, who she had been – what she had done, in ignorance – but that was no excuse.

Hiko stayed where he was, watching them all with grave impassivity, and his eyes gave nothing away.

"Does he have t'be here for this?" Sagara asked, gesturing sharply at Hiko. Hiko looked down his nose at the brawler, the corner of his mouth twitching. Amusement? A frown? Megumi couldn't tell.

"Do you propose to throw me out?" he asked in a very deliberate tone.

"Sano." Kaoru was kneeling with her hands folded in her lap, back very straight. "Mr. Hiko asked to be present, and I agreed. Kenshin is his concern, too."

"An' you get to make those calls, now?" Sagara crossed his arms, broadening his shoulders. "Who died and put you in charge?"

Kaoru pinched the bridge of her nose. "Is it that important, Sano?"

"Could be!" He leaned in, belligerent. "You don't know this guy, you don't know what his agenda is – "

"All valid concerns, Sagara," Shinomori interrupted smoothly. "However, having spoken with Mr. Hiko, I do not believe he poses any threat."

"You don't _believe_." Sagara rounded on him. "But do y'_know?_"

"No." Shinomori's voice was flat; his eyes, behind his bangs, were very cold. "Nothing is ever certain, Sagara. No matter how vigilant we are, we cannot account for all possibilities."

"If you're all done yammering?" Mr. Hiko interjected, with a weary sigh. The room shifted around him, somehow, until he was its focal point. "I don't care about whatever it is that you're up to; the only business I have is with Kanryu. But, if you're going to be paranoid, let me point out that I've already seen and heard enough to have a fairly good idea of what's going on." Hiko spoke calmly, as if their struggle were no concern of his. "If you try to kick me out now – assuming that I allow it – then you don't know where I am or who I'm speaking to." His eyes glinted. "Just something to consider."

"Is that a threat?" Sagara growled, starting to rise to his feet. Hiko smirked.

"Merely an observation." A beat. "Idiot."

"You – !" Sagara started forward, almost lunging at the older man. Hiko's eyes flashed; Sagara reared back, the muscles in his arms flexing as he forced himself under control. His mouth twisted in a silent snarl as he glared at Hiko. Megumi saw something shift between them, some silent communication, and then Sagara dropped back onto the floor.

"Good point," he said finally, too casually. "You stay where we can fuckin' see you, alright?"

He leaned back on his hands and looked very deliberately away. Megumi couldn't help thinking of two wolves meeting for the first time: men were men, it seemed, regardless of species.

"If you insist." Hiko propped an elbow on his knee, cupping his chin in his hand. "Now, if I understand the situation correctly, Ms. Kamiya will have to meet with Kanryu?" His face darkened when he said the name.

"Yes," Megumi said simply. "Which means we need to know as much as we can about why Kanryu wants to meet with her. When did you tell the messenger to return, Kamiya?"

"Tomorrow." Kaoru smoothed her clothes over his legs. "I'm free on the day mentioned in the invitation, I just didn't want to agree without talking it over."

"When does he want to meet?"

"This Friday." Kaoru smiled weakly. "The day after tomorrow."

"Not much time," Sagara commented. "That's his style, though, innit?"

"It is." Megumi dug her fingers into her thigh, memories welling up like pus in an infection. "Not _quite_ enough time to prepare, but enough time to worry." She couldn't keep the bitter smile from her face, not when she was discussing _this._ "Everything is about power, with him."

"You sound very certain," Hiko murmured, and she _felt_ him looking at her, threatening to expose her.

"We… have a history," she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes and let him see the truth written there. Her voice sounded hollow, even to her own ears.

He kept her gaze for a long moment, then nodded slightly and let her go.

"So," she said, exhaling. "Kamiya – accept the invitation tomorrow, and don't change the date or time. You're not experienced enough to try and play this kind of game. Let _him_ do the maneuvering; just defend against it, for now."

"Defend…" Kaoru blinked, wide-eyed. "But – how? I don't know…"

"I'll help you as much as I can," Megumi said briskly, heart clenching. Kaoru's voice had gone high and breathy, but there was no fear in her face. She was learning to hide herself; her innocence was burning away, piece by piece. And Megumi had known that this would happen, that it was the natural consequence of allowing her to involve herself in this fight, and she had let Kaoru do it anyway.

Just one more sin, really.

"Shinomori," she snapped, without quite meaning to. "Do you have _any_ idea what Kanryu wants?"

He shook his head. "I know nothing for certain. I can only speculate."

She'd always appreciated that about Shinomori, that he knew the difference between rumor, fact, speculation based on fact, and speculation based on rumor. Most people didn't; it was harder than it sounded to master the distinctions and use them effectively.

"Well?" Sagara shifted as he watched the conversation, coming forward to hunch over his crossed legs and staring hard at Shinomori. "Share with the fuckin' class, wouldja?"

"The first option which we must consider is that he is simply curious," Shinomori began, impassive as a stone statue. "Kanryu abandoned the manslayer; despite this, the manslayer has continued to exist. Furthermore, the manslayer was recently – "

"_Kenshin_," Kaoru cut in, tapping her open hand firmly against the tabletop – not quite a slam, but very close. "His name is Kenshin, Mr. Shinomori. Not 'the manslayer.'"

Shinomori paused, focusing on Kaoru for what was probably the first time. Kaoru met his gaze levelly, steel in hers, and after a suspended heartbeat he inclined his head, acknowledging her.

"_Kenshin_," he continued, without inflection, "was recently the focus of a moderate disruption. It is unusual for something which Kanryu has thrown away to resurface again in any form. It is possible that Kanryu wishes to re-asses Kenshin's condition, and learn the truth of the matter for himself. He may intend to try and purchase Kenshin from Ms. Kamiya. Alternately, he may harbor certain suspicions regarding Ms. Kamiya's motives and her involvement in certain affairs, and wish to question her. It is possible that both motives are at play, or a different motive entirely which I have failed to account for."

Sano drummed his fingers on the table. "What makes you think that's what's goin' on?" _And why don't you know for certain?_ he didn't say, but Megumi could see it in the tense line of his jaw. So could Shinomori.

"Kanryu is planning something," Shinomori said flatly. "I do not yet know what it is. I am not as trusted as I once was. However, I believe that the conditioning process is part of it. As you know, the mansl – Kenshin holds a certain historical significance in that regard." That cost him something to admit: Megumi could see it in the slight furrowing of his brow.

She pressed her fist to her mouth to hide her shaking hands, knowing that it made her look contemplative and not as afraid as she really was. For Kaoru, yes – for herself, also, and of the memories crawling out from the dank pits they'd been consigned to. For all of them, because Kanryu was moving and Shinomori didn't know why.

"So," Kaoru said, brows drawn down in concentration. "Basically, you're not sure of anything."

Megumi would have laughed, under other circumstances. Shinomori's face tightened a bit further

"…there are many variables," he said finally. He _was_ disconcerted, and Megumi didn't blame him; it had surprised her, too, the first time she'd realized that Kaoru saw and understood more than she'd given her credit for.

"Alright then," Kaoru said, stretching her arms over her head with a deliberate lack of concern. "I guess I'll just have to wing it." Her tone was acidically sweet. "Megumi? What do you have to say?"

"Several things," Megumi said, rather enjoying Shinomori's discomfort. "But first – you are aware of the dangers, yes?"

Kaoru nodded. "But I don't see how there's much of a choice. Like I said before, trying to avoid it will just make things worse. So," and here she settled herself, heaving a deep sigh and tossing the end of her ponytail over her shoulder. "I'll do it."

"Missy." Sagara was looking at her with guarded eyes: afraid, not of her, but for her. "Sorry t'say so, but I dunno if you're takin' this seriously – "

"I am," she said quietly. Kenshin stirred behind her. He hadn't moved during the conversation except to let go of her sleeve when she raised her arms. He hadn't renewed his grip on the cloth; now, though, he edged a little closer to her. Kaoru's eyes flicked to him, then to Sagara, and Megumi understood abruptly that this was all an act for _Kenshin's_ sake. By the sudden caution in his eyes, Sagara did, too.

"I understand that the _situation_ is dangerous, but Kanryu's nothing to be afraid of," she said firmly: for Kenshin, yes, and for her own as well. The steel was in her eyes again. "He's just a man."

Megumi nearly laughed; but Kenshin was there, and she couldn't let him see that Kaoru was afraid.

"…s'ppose that's true." Sagara subsided, still eyeing her.

"Anyway, if that's all, then I don't want to keep any of you from your business. Megumi, you should stay – but I don't see why the rest of you need to hear things you already know. Mr. Hiko, do you have a place to spend the night?"

"I can make my own arrangements," he said, amusement lacing his tone. "Is that the end of this little war council, then?"

"I think so," Kaoru said. "Except Megumi and I need to talk a bit more. Sano, if you could make sure that Yahiko doesn't stay too late at the Akabeko?"

_Just in case_, her eyes said. Because Yahiko was only a boy, and the world was suddenly a very dangerous place. Sagara nodded.

"Yeah, I'll make sure he gets home on time." _And safe_, was the unspoken guarantee. He glanced towards Megumi, as if he wanted to say something, and then looked away. His jaw worked.

"Great. Mr. Shinomori, I'm glad I finally had the chance to meet you," Kaoru said, smiling like a noh mask. "I hope you can find out what Kanryu's plans are soon."

Shinomori stood and bowed slightly to the group.

"I'll take my leave," he said, and did just that. His departure was a signal: Hiko and Sagara left soon after him, and then it was only herself and Kaoru, and Kenshin kneeling behind Kaoru's shoulder.

"Well," Kaoru said finally. "What now?"

She looked at Megumi with steadfast faith, trusting her to find the path. After all, she had set Kaoru on it, had pointed her toward the woods and told her where to go.

_I didn't make you choose this_, Megumi though, rebellious. _You did this of your own will_. She'd never asked _anyone_ to shoulder her sins.

Which, she knew, was why she would help. Had to. Because Kaoru had not been asked, had not even known, and had not walked away. Could not possible have walked away, any more than Megumi could walk away now. Everything that she was had compelled her to stop that cold morning when she'd found Kenshin below the dock, to take him home and heal his wounds – even after she'd learned the full extent of them.

"The single most important thing,"' Megumi said, willing Kaoru to _hear_ her, "is to never, ever show him that you're afraid."

"Never show fear…" Kaoru echoed. Beside her, Kenshin raised his head briefly. For a moment, he met Megumi's eyes: and his own were bright with something she had never seen before.

_Never show fear._

That had been her mistake. She was certain of that. In their first meeting, after the training pens, she hadn't been able to hide her horror. He'd known, then, how to use her; he'd had power over her, and that was all he wanted, really. Power.

Megumi cleared her throat.

"He'll be looking for weaknesses," she said bluntly, forcing herself to look Kaoru in the eyes. "It doesn't matter whether he wants something specific or he's simply curious. The one thing Kanryu craves above everything else is power. If you show him weakness, any weakness at all, anything that gives him power over you, he will _never_," and her voice cracked here, despite herself, "leave you alone."

No, not ever; she'd never had a chance, not after that. He'd bound her with a thousand silken chains, and after a time he hadn't even needed to threaten her. After all, he was only giving her what she deserved. She _deserved_ it, every blow, every night spent bleeding onto silk sheets, every hot, whimpering climax torn from her against her will but only after she had _begged_ for it –

And he might have held her forever, if Sagara hadn't come into her darkness all wry quips and candleflame, painful nearly beyond bearing after so many lonely years. It hadn't been about her – Megumi Takani, specifically, was no part of his mission – and that in and of itself had been a blessed relief. She had been only one of hundreds of souls his strong hands had helped to freedom. Nothing special. Nothing special at all.

Kaoru reached out to her, eyes bright with grief. "Megumi – "

Megumi smacked her hand away, suddenly wrathful. As if this _girl_ had any right.

"Don't pity me," she snarled. "Don't you _dare_ pity me."

"I was only going to say…" Kaoru pulled her hand back, bowing her head in silent apology. "I was only going to say that you're very strong."

"Strength," Megumi said bitterly, "has nothing to do with it. Anyway, Kamiya – don't be too informal, but don't dress your best, either – don't do anything that indicates you needed to prepare yourself or that you see anything unusual about the situation. Do you know anything about Western customs?"

"No?" Kaoru pulled a confused face. "What's _that_ got to do with anything?"

"Kanryu prefers them," Megumi said briskly. "For Japanese guests, at any rate. For Western guests, he prefers Japanese customs. Understand?"

By the way Kaoru's face cleared into disgust, she did. Keep them off-balance, always guessing, never comfortable. Always with the impression that they were doing something wrong, and he was tolerating their ignorance. That was his way. Power. Always power.

"Oh. That's just _petty_," she said, crossing her arms. "Ugh. Megumi, can you – "

"Yes." Megumi stood to leave. "Come to the clinic first thing tomorrow; I'll teach you as much as I can in the time that we have."

Kaoru nodded. "I'll see you then. And – Megumi – "

Megumi paused halfway to the door.

"Thank you," Kaoru said, and Megumi couldn't see her face but she knew what it would look like, how bright and open it would be. Because Kaoru was grateful, _truly_ grateful to Megumi for deigning to guide her, when if not for her she wouldn't be lost to begin with…

"Don't thank me," she said, precisely as harsh as she'd meant to be. "You have nothing to thank me for."

She left, trailing shattered silence in her wake.

* * *

Hiko left the Kamiya girl's house in a rather more contemplative mood than he'd arrived. So. She was involved in one of those rebel groups that popped up once every few generations, to no particular effect. And a rather incompetent one at that, unless they were trying to lull him into a false sense of security. Which he rather doubted. He had considered, also, the possibility that the girl had simply decided to trust him, and it seemed most likely that it was a combination of the two factors: her own naiveté and her belief, for whatever reason, that he could be trusted.

She wasn't wrong on the last point, since he hardly cared about the result of their little struggle either way. But if she was going to lead a revolutionary's life, she was really going to have to cultivate a healthier sense of paranoia.

It was a fairly odd assortment of characters: that impulsive street fighter, who hadn't yet noticed the group's slow movement to put the girl at its center. There was a great deal of rage in him, poorly controlled. He'd been surprised that the lad had actually backed down; he'd been almost certain that things would come to blows first. Perhaps they would have, if the exchange had been a serious challenge rather than a test.

The older woman was something of a mystery. She clearly had some old, bitter connection with Kanryu, and her look when she spoke of him was that of a former slave yet there was no brand on her face. She carried her pride as a cloak and shield, a thin one, but better than the wounded vulnerability hidden underneath. It'd likely smother her, in the end, but that was no concern of his.

And then there was the spy. Aoshi Shinomori. Their inside man, as it were, and the most valuable member of the group for Hiko's purposes. Kenshin wasn't beyond saving, but whether he healed or not was up to him; if Hiko could have _commanded_ the boy's heart or soul, this whole mess would have been avoided in the first place. Stubborn brat. Of course, if he was that easily swayed he never would have been able to learn the Hiten, which led naturally to a rather troubling conclusion: that Kenshin had _allowed_ this to happen. His soul was not broken, only caged. Which meant that, on some level, he had _consented_ to this. Something had convinced him that this degradation was no more or less than what he deserved.

And Hiko was certain – certain the way that the tides were certain of the moon – that the reason for that had something to do with the one thing he _didn't_ know: what had happened between his apprentice and that girl from the village, whose name he'd never bothered to learn.

Gods above and below, he'd been careless.

Well, what's done is done, and at least his path was clear. He needed to find out what had happened between Kenshin and the girl from the village, and the only lead he had was Kanryu's probable involvement. And what should fate deliver him but a man with his fingers in Kanryu's pies, and no personal loyalty to him at all?

It was easy to pick up the spy's trail. Like as not he was as interested in speaking to Hiko as Hiko was in speaking to him; professionals knew each other, even on only a few minutes' acquaintance.

He followed Shinomori out of the Kamiya girl's neighborhood and into a wilder part of town, the kind of place where there were never any witnesses no matter how crowded the streets had been at the time. Eventually, that not-quite-crushing poverty yielded to what had doubtless once been a public park of some kind, and perhaps still was on official maps. What it had become, however, was a tangled wilderness of shanty huts and small outdoor fires. Men and women – if such words could apply to such wretches – huddled around them, eyes dull. Some bore faded slave-marks.

Not only would there be no witnesses to find here, should the police come calling, but there never would have been a crowd in the first place. This was a place where people knew better than the stop and stare.

The sun had begun to sink below the mountains when the spy halted in a shadowed corner, far from the small fires. His shoulders seemed to slump.

"So," he said calmly. "What do you want?"

"I think you know that already," Hiko said, equally calm.

"Answers." The spy turned to face him, green eyes remote behind his bangs. Hiko nodded. "And if I have none to give?"

"I suspect you can find the information I need," Hiko said, crossing his arms. "I'd be very surprised if you didn't have access to the records from ten years ago."

"Ten years ago, I was fifteen."

Hiko raised an eyebrow. "And that should mean something?"

The shadows played across the spy's face, casting him half in darkness.

"Not at all."

"Then will you do what I ask?"

A baby was crying, out there in the darkness split by smoldering campfires, high-pitched and wailing. A few moments later there was a guttural shout and the _crack_ of flesh meeting flesh; then a woman's moan. The crying stopped soon after.

The spy seemed to sigh.

"If I refuse?"

"I'd want to know why." Hiko uncrossed his arms, resting a hand casually on his sword-hilt. Not quite a threat, just as Shinomori's statement had been not quite a refusal. "Doesn't this sort of thing fall within your mandate?"

"I've received no order to assist you," Shinomori pointed out. Hiko snorted.

"As if that would be a consideration for you. Tell me," he said, as a pack of dogs somewhere began to bay. "whose idea was it, putting that lunkhead brawler in charge? He makes an excellent target."

"That was not my decision." Shinomori's jaw tightened. "Sagara has his uses."

"As a footsoldier, I'm sure." His thumb stroked over the grain of his hilt. "As a commander? I'm surprised you've all made it this far."

Hiko paced forward, stopping at the very edge of too close. Well within Shinomori's reach, and that was a statement in and of itself: that he had nothing to fear from any trick or technique the spy might use on him. Which was true enough.

"There were no other candidates." Was the irritation flaring behind those glass-green eyes?

"Interesting." Another step forward and, credit where's it's due, the spy did not take a step back. "What disqualified you, I wonder?"

"My current position creates too many risks if I were to be detected," Shinomori said flatly, as if reciting a lesson. There was cold fire in his face now, pale and constrained. "It is unwise to place all of your eggs in one basket."

"Those aren't your words." A third step. "And that's not the reason."

He brought his will to bear, then, and the blood drained slowly from Shinomori's face. It was unfair; it bordered on cruel. It was, however, necessary, and that was the terrible secret that his namesake and his namesake before him, all throughout the line of mastery, had carried with them: that the ideals of the sword of heaven were ultimately that they had none. They would _do what was necessary_ – what others were unable or unwilling to do, to maintain the equilibrium between heaven and earth.

Even if it meant raising the only kind of son you could ever have to hate you, and teaching him to kill you.

Shinomori strained against his will, tendons bulging once as he threw himself against it. There was no escape, nor would there be until Hiko released him. He hadn't been this rough with the girl; there'd been no need to be, as she was still only half-trained. She'd surprised him in that regard. If he ever had to face her again, he'd be more forceful. The spy, however, carried death-marks on his soul: he had killed, had been trained to kill, and could withstand more than a pacifist like Kamiya.

Hiko judged Shinomori's endurance to a nicety, and when he'd reached his utter limit he drew back. A brief, panicked gasp was the only sign the spy gave of his discomfort; that and the long pause before he spoke again.

"…my motives."

Hiko waited for him to continue. The campfires crackled and popped; glass shattered in the distance, and voices raised in anger, exploding into violence before settling into ambient noise, no more relevant than the wind.

"It was decided," Shinomori said, after another long pause. "that my motives were – insufficiently altruistic." Did his fists clench briefly, or was it a trick of shadows?

"In what sense?"

The spy's heartbeat elevated just a touch, and Hiko saw his throat work as he swallowed. He didn't want to answer, but Hiko knew he would, because the alternative was that terrible crash of Hiko's will over Shinomori's own, his mind folding under the assault like paper in a windstorm. Hiko had been on the receiving end of the full technique, once, when he was still an apprentice. He'd never quite forgiven his master for it, and he suspected that was why the old man had done it. To make things easier, come the end.

"I have only one goal in this." Shinomori _was_ clenching his fists; his knuckles were white with tension. "That goal is the utter destruction of Takeda Kanryu. Regardless of the cost."

"I see." Insufficiently altruistic, indeed: this wasn't about ideology for the spy, this was about _revenge_. No wonder his little rebel group didn't trust him to lead. "What did Kanryu take from you?"

He didn't expect an answer. He'd said it only to indicate that he understood what Shinomori was saying: that Kanryu had wounded him in some essential way, and all he wanted was to even the score, the politics be damned. But the youngster glared up at him, eyes burning like balefire with hate deeper than the roots of a mountain, and snarled as he answered.

"Her name," he said, invoking it like a mantra, "was Misao."

"Hmph." Hiko crossed his arms again, almost amused and liking Shinomori rather more than he had a few minutes ago. Ideals were tricky things, easy to elevate above the human lives that sustained them. Revenge was simpler. Purer, almost: blood for blood, and no need to justify it with pretty words. "Let me promise you something, Shinomori. If you assist me in this matter, Takeda Kanryu will be dead before the year is out."

The fire in Shinomori's eyes had banked itself. It was still there, only buried, waiting to be called forth. By the time he returned to his room in Kanryu's estate, Hiko knew, it would be hidden as completely as if it had never existed. But there was still a spark of it as he met Hiko's gaze.

"You will swear to this?"

Hiko nodded. After a heartbeat, so did Shinomori.

"I will bring the information to you within three days."

* * *

It had been a long time since Kaoru had taken out mother's hairpins. She didn't usually wear them, so she never had much need for them. Sometimes she would take them out just to look at them – they were beautiful, after all – and wonder if she should be a different kind of woman. But not often.

_Beauty is a woman's armor_, her mother had told her once when she was younger, before the sickness took her, _and courtesy is her weapon._ Kaoru had been kneeling on the mats, staring out at the garden as her mother combed through her hair, and she remembered the spicy, enveloping scent of her mother's perfume: she remembered her mother's low laugh as she carefully picked muddy leaves out of her daughter's hair.

One of her father's students had told her that girls shouldn't set foot in a sacred dojo, so she'd stormed away to lay in wait and tripped him when he came down the training hall steps. They'd scuffled, and Kaoru had come away the worse for it before her father had broken it up. She hadn't been wrong, her mother had reassured her; she would never be wrong to fight with all her heart for what she loved. But there were ways and ways to fight, and not all strength flowed from the sword.

She hadn't understood then, sulking cross-armed and enduring her parents' gentle teasing. She didn't believe she truly understood now. But – maybe – she was starting to.

Her mother had arranged her ornaments by season. Sparrows perching on pine for the New Year, then deep red plum flowers for the early weeks of spring, before the cherry blossoms bloomed. Butterflies on bunches of pink cherry petals came next, then wisteria…

Kaoru blew her bangs away from her forehead in irritation. The cherry blossoms were _late_ this year: in fact, if you went only by the weather, it might as well already be the summer rains. Did that mean she was supposed to still wear the plums, or was she meant to keep going as if the seasons had changed normally? Well, seasonal meant _seasonal_, and presumably you waited until the correct season actually came, even if it came late.

On the other hand, Kanryu preferred Western customs, at least when believed his guests were only familiar with Japanese ones. So perhaps staying within the Western calendar was most appropriate, and didn't that ignore the natural rhythms of the year? She'd certainly heard enough oldsters complaining about it… so if that was the case, maybe she should wear the pins for the season it was _supposed_ to be, rather than the season it actually was. Then again, she didn't want to come across as trying too hard to play his game –

And wasn't she doing _exactly_ what Megumi had warned her not to do by fretting like this?

She sighed again and closed her mother's jewelry box with a determined _thump_. Kimono. Kimono she understood. And she only had a few of them, so there would be less to worry over. She'd pick her outfit, _then_ accessorize.

It wasn't like she had anything else to do. Not until Sano brought Yahiko home, anyway, and then – oh dear, _then_. How could she explain this to him? How could she justify any of this – when so much of his life had already been disrupted just after he had finally accepted that he had a _home_ and he was safe –

Kenshin stirred in the corner of her room. He was supposed to be making dinner, but it seemed more important to him to stay by her side, so she'd let him. It was almost a hopeful sign, that he was ignoring a standing order, even if she couldn't be quite sure _why_.

"Mistress?"

"It's nothing," she said quickly, a little disturbed at how quickly the urge to weep receded. _No more childish things_, she'd sworn, and known that it was the only choice she had. But it felt like walking on broken glass these days, like fighting with an unhealed wound: she couldn't move as freely as she always had. "We should start dinner. Sano and Yahiko will be home soon."

She stood. Kenshin stood with her, fluid as a shadow, and followed her closely enough that she could feel his heat radiating into her skin.

Fourteen years old. She thought about that, as she knelt on the mats in the dining room and watched him cook, her hands folded helplessly in her lap. He'd been fourteen years old when he'd been captured. A few years older than Yahiko; a few years younger than herself. _Younger_ than her – and she thought, inevitably, of herself at that age. It hadn't been so very long ago; but it been before her father died, before Sano, before Yahiko, before –

Before the world had ended.

He'd been Kanryu's slave for about ten years, Megumi had said. So he'd be twenty-four now, or close enough. She should have asked Mr. Hiko how long it had been. She'd meant to, except then the messenger had arrived and there had been other things to worry over. He didn't _look_ twenty-four; he looked ageless, except when he slept, and she'd only seen him sleeping a few times at the very beginning, when he'd been too weak and wounded to snap to attention as soon as he heard her coming.

But he'd looked young when he slept, too achingly young, and she hadn't thought about what it might mean because she hadn't wanted to. She'd had enough to think about.

Fourteen years old. Still a child by any measure: as completely orphaned as anyone could be, even his hometown wiped off the map. Only his master – that strange, hard man – and the girl from the village, who'd been so important to him. Something had happened and ten years later – this.

_What happened to you?_

The pressure of the words built behind her lips, swirling in her mouth until she had to clench her jaw to keep them back because he _wouldn't_ answer – he _couldn't_ – but –

Kenshin raised his head from his work and turned to her, as if he'd heard her thoughts.

"Mistress," he said flatly. "Sir Sano and the young master have returned."

"Oh?" And then she could hear them, stampeding their way from the entrance down the hall to the dining room. "So they have."

"We're back," Yahiko said as he entered. Sano nodded, sauntering behind him.

"Welcome home." Kaoru slid around on her knees to face them. "Dinner will be ready soon. How was work?"

"Okay." Yahiko knelt down. "Not real busy. Bad weather, you know."

"I see." He knew; she could see it in the tension lining his face, in Sano's guilty expression. He knew something was wrong. "A strange thing happened today," she said lightly, not sure how else to approach it. It wasn't as if he didn't _know_ how serious things were, how grave the stakes had grown…

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "Well," she began, "I guess I should start with what happened on the way home from the market…"

He relaxed as she told the story of Hiko's arrival, and maybe it was because she left out the worst parts – like the terror she'd felt when he bore down on her, _willing_ her to step aside, and she'd held her ground and thought she might die of it – and maybe it was only because she _was_ telling him, as if he was an adult who had every right to know and not a child to be protected. It hurt, a little, to realize that she wasn't sure anymore: that he had been growing and changing while she was preoccupied, and she had missed the beginnings of his shift towards manhood.

She didn't tell him how young Kenshin had been. She didn't want him to know – didn't want anyone to know. There was something too awfully intimate about it; it was all too easy to play out the story in her mind's eye, but with Yahiko standing in for Kenshin and giving the unnamed girl Tsubame's face. In fact, she told him very little – as little as she'd told the others. Only that Kenshin had been Mr. Hiko's student, and they had quarreled, and he had fallen into Kanryu's hands somehow. That was all anyone needed to know, really

Sano had heard the story already. He applied himself grimly to his meal, attacking the food as though it had offended him. She knew that he wasn't tasting a morsel of it.

Kenshin stayed by her as she spoke, serving the rice, and that was the third reason she spoke as vaguely as she could about what she'd learned from Mr. Hiko. Because it didn't seem right to share his story when he couldn't speak for himself, to share portions of his life that he might not want anyone to know about. They had to know _something_ – he was as bound into this as any of them, and she wanted them to know that he _had_ been a person, once, and could be again, to _believe_ it the way she did – otherwise she couldn't ask them to risk their lives to help her save him.

But they didn't need to know everything she knew. She would keep as many of his secrets as she was able to, and when this was over – that far distant _someday_ when Kenshin was whole again – hope that he would understand that she'd done the best she could.

She mentioned the invitation from Kanryu casually, not wanting to infect Yahiko with her fear. Sano had frightened him enough already, with whatever he'd let slip on the walk home. She could tell that it hadn't worked by the way his fingers tightened on his chopsticks. Her student was too clever to be fooled by her nonchalance.

That, and Sano reacted to her mentioning it by slamming his rice bowl down on the table. She flinched; in the corner of her eye, she saw that Kenshin did as well.

"That had better not be cracked," she said warningly, picking up her own and taking a determined mouthful.

"It's fine, missy." To his credit, he looked mildly abashed as he picked it up and ran his fingers across it, feeling for cracks. "Yeah. Nothin' broken; no harm done."

He wasn't talking about the ricebowl. She swallowed, unable to quite meet his eyes.

"Good," she said softly.

Yahiko finished chewing and asked, too calmly: "Do you think he wants to take Kenshin back?"

She didn't need to look at Kenshin; she _felt_ him freeze in place, knew without seeing that his hand was creeping towards her sleeve.

"I don't care what Kanryu wants," she said serenely, taking another bite. "He won't get it."

And – surprising her so much that she almost dropped her bowl – she sensed Kenshin relax behind her.

"So why are you going in the first place?" Yahiko was staring at his tray, head lowered, but he didn't seem angry. More – thoughtful. Almost brooding.

"Because it's easier than refusing," she said clearly. "At least, according to what we know about Kanryu. He won't give up, once he's decided to take an interest, so… might as well get it over with."

"Huh." He looked at Sano, with the too-old eyes she'd thought he'd never have again, and her heart broke a little. "She's gonna be safe, right?"

Eyes too old for his face, but his voice still cracked a little, like a child's. Sano twitched a little, as if he was biting back a different response even as his eyes softened.

"Sure this," he said confidently. "Ain't gonna let anything happen again. You know me, kid, I only gotta learn a lesson once."

Yahiko nodded. "Okay, then."

The rest of the meal passed in silence.

No one lingered after dinner to chat or drink; everyone went straight to their rooms, wrapped in their own thoughts as they exchanged cursory goodnights. Kenshin followed her, leaving the dishes unattended to.

She did, however, insist that he wait outside her room while she changed into her sleeping clothes.

He was across the threshold almost before she'd finished telling him that it was safe to come in, kneeling at her side as she brushed her hair. His head was bowed, his eyes downcast as always; but they seemed to burn in the low light from the lantern, watching her in the mirror. She braided her hair quickly, biting her lower lip, and finally said:

"Kenshin."

"Yes, mistress?"

"You don't have to worry about tomorrow. I meant it, you know," and she _knew_ that he understood, but she had to test it, had to be sure that it wasn't a fluke. "He can't have you back. I won't _let_ him."

It surprised her, a little, the vehemence in her own voice; but not really, because she knew herself and she knew how deeply, frighteningly possessive she'd become. Even though she had no right to be. This wasn't only about protecting a wounded man, not anymore. This went deeper. He was as much a part of her world now as Yahiko or Sano or her father's school, and she would fight as fiercely to keep him there. Where he _belonged_.

Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was wrong, maybe she had no right to feel this for him, when he couldn't choose whether or not to be part of her life. But she _did_ feel it, and it would fuel her; it would give her the strength to fight. She could use it, as long as she was careful.

"He gave you up," she said softly, speaking mostly to her own reflection and watching cool rage bloom in her eyes. She didn't quite recognize herself when it did. "He _hurt_ you and then he _threw you away_."

He'd taken a _child_ and twisted him, bent his mind to trap his heart and soul and all to test a _theory_.

"I won't let him hurt you," she whispered, watching her fingers twist around each other on her lap. "Not again. Not _ever._"

"…mistress."

It was the same acknowledgment he'd given her a hundred times, except not. His voice was different; his voice was a _voice_, not simply a sound, and there was something almost like feeling in it. Her head snapped up. She heard cloth rustle as he stood, walking to the alcove where she'd stored her mother's jewelry box.

"Kenshin?"

He brought it over to her, kneeling again as he set it carefully down between them and opened it.

"What are you…?"

His hand dipped into the hairpins and pulled one out, one that she hadn't quite seen. It had been hidden away behind some larger ornaments in deeper colors, almost buried underneath. He laid it carefully across his hands and offered it to her, head bowed, as if he was presenting a sword. It was a long, straight pin: the design was a spray of peach blossoms in white and pale gold, interspersed with a few bright green leaves.

The tip of the pin gleamed in the lantern light, almost as bright as a blade.

"…oh," she breathed, and took it carefully from him. The metal of the pin was strong and the tip was _sharp_, sharp enough to pierce down to the bone without much effort. She could feel the threat in it when she ran her fingers down the shaft.

_Beauty is a woman's armor_, her mother had said, _and courtesy is her weapon._ And there were ways and ways of fighting.

Her vision blurred a little.

"Thank you," she said. "It's perfect."

Kenshin bowed to her and closed the jewelry box, putting it back in its place. Kaoru set the hairpin reverently down on her dresser, below the mirror – the mirror that had been her mother's and her grandmother's and her great-grandmother's before her in an unbroken line. She stared at herself in it for another long moment, until she could see herself again, her mother's eyes and her father's proud chin, all the bits and pieces of her ancestors that had combined to make her one whole being. And she thought: Takeda Kanryu is only a man.

"Thank you," she said again, moving to face Kenshin. His eyes didn't quite meet hers but neither were they cast down, and his head was high. "You know…"

She paused to breathe, uncertain, and he waited.

"When I'm at Kanryu's," she said finally, licking her lips nervously. "I was thinking – maybe you should stay with Megumi. Would you prefer to do that, or stay here?"

It wasn't that she didn't want him with her; it wasn't that she wouldn't take him, if she could. If she thought he was ready. He deserved that much, to face the man who'd crippled him. But for all the strides he'd made – even given what he'd just done – he wasn't strong enough, not yet. And she would not let Kanryu hurt him again.

Kenshin flattened himself against the mats, moving so swiftly that he almost seemed to collapse and she gasped a little, startled. Her hand came up to clutch her collar.

"Mistress," he said, a little muffled, and there was that _feeling_ in his voice that she could not name, so faint it almost wasn't there at all. "May this worthless one be permitted to accompany you?"

A question. A _request_. She collapsed a little herself as the implications hit her, bracing herself against the floor with one hand. He'd _asked_ her for something – something foolish and dangerous and that she would never, under other circumstances, even _consider_ –

But he'd _asked_. He _wanted_ something.

The lamplight flickered. The wind was dying down and she could hear the gentle patter of rain against the roof. Not a storm: just rain, soft and clean.

"If – if that's what you want," she said, head light with joy and hollow with fear. He looked up a little as she spoke, pale eyes gleaming in the lantern's glow. Those strange eyes like flower petals, so achingly beautiful in the rare moments when they gleamed with near-humanity. She thought, inanely, that maybe that was why she hadn't been able to walk away. Because she wanted to know what they would look like, when he was fully a man again.

"If that's what you want," she said again, a little more strongly. "Then yes. Of course you can."

"Thank you, mistress," he said immediately, and sat up into his usual position: back straight, head bowed, eyes cast down.

"Alright, then," she said, turning back to her dresser and tidying it for no particular reason. "Well. I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Kenshin."

He retreated into his corner as she crawled into her bed, but she felt his eyes on her for a long time before she slept.


	9. no space among the clouds

**A/n: Okay! Here it is, the last chapter before The Long Hiatus. This is the last there will be on _Invictus_ until August 10th - for I am off to the wilds of the bar exam, and I shall return a changed woman.**

**Also, ChronicSleeper drew some lovely fanart for this, which you should go look at. The links are in my profile.  
**

**Last, the lovely Wynteralchemyst has started writing a fanfic titled _To Catch The Wind _which is actually canon with _Through Long Days of Labor_, and therefore sort of my bastard stepchild. She's using the timeline, events, and character destinies I have sketched out for that post-series set of fic, and you should all go and read it. I've been watching her evolve the story and it's really going to have some fun stuff going on, so don't be turned off by the premise. It's posted here, on this site, and you should go read it**

**ONWARDS TO GLORY.**

* * *

The boy was sweeping in front of the gate when Hiko came to the Kamiya dojo. Not to say his goodbyes, of course – though if he would have if he hadn't been able to get a moment alone with the idiot any other way. Kenshin's hands tightened around the broomstick as he approached. The girl was nowhere in sight.

"Sir," he said, bowing.

"Kenshin."

Kenshin looked up, shifting eyes unreadable, and Hiko looked at his face for a long, long time, eyes lingering over the scar on his cheek.

"…sir," Kenshin said finally. "How might this worthless one assist you?"

"I know about the girl, Kenshin," Hiko said, watching his former student's face carefully. There was a slight tightening in his jaw, a careful shift in stance.

"I know about Tomoe," he continued. "Not all of it, not yet. But more than I did. I'm going back there, Kenshin, to get the rest of the story."

Shinomori had made good on his end of the deal faster than Hiko had expected, and under other circumstances he might have wondered why but what he'd learned had been too important. It burned in him like a mast fire, slow and hidden under the leaves.

He took a step towards Kenshin. To the boy's credit, he managed to hold his ground.

"When I return," he said, still staring straight into lost apprentice's eyes, "I will know the truth. All of it. And there will be a choice to make; whose, I don't yet know. Do you understand, boy?"

Another long, tense moment unfolded between them, and Kenshin neither flinched nor looked away. Then, when the silence had stretched almost to breaking point, he bowed and held it.

"Sir," he said, and nothing else. Hiko looked him over once more, then snorted in irritation.

"We'll see," he said, and left.

* * *

Kanryu had sent a carriage.

It was a handsome carriage, Western, black and sleek with his crest on the door: a spider crouching on a web that glinted silver in the clouded sunlight. It was silver, Kaoru realized as she drew closer, Kenshin following behind her like a shadow: real silver, worked into the wood. The horses – a matched set of bays – stamped restlessly, once, then quieted as the driver flicked the reins. He had slave-mark on his cheek.

A second slave swung down from his perch at the back and bowed deeply to her, opening the door. The interior was a pale cream, with upholstered benches and light gold draperies. It was all very elegant. Rich, in the Western style, but not too overdone for Japanese sensibilities. Which fit with what Megumi had spent all of yesterday drilling into her. The western styling was meant to unsettle her, but she would presumably draw comfort from the careful balancing of the two aesthetics. That way, later, she could be caught off-guard.

_Give every courtesy_, she reminded herself. _Never show fear._

Kenshin slid gracefully in front of her and held out a hand to help her up the step and into the carriage. She met his eyes briefly: they were dark, almost violet, and did not leave hers as she stepped up and settled herself on the Western seating. Kanryu's slave closed the door with a gentle click and he and Kenshin climbed onto the small perch at the back, as protocol apparently dictated.

The carriage pulled away with a slight lurch. Kaoru closed her eyes, chest tight. Her muscles protested, straining to settle into the alien posture. She was supposed to sit with her ankles neatly crossed, feet resting either on the floor or tucked slightly back and to one side, and it stretched her legs in strange new ways. It wasn't hard – she'd held more strenuous stances in training – but it was new, and she'd only had a day to learn it. At least the rest came easy, the folded hands and proud spine. Shoulders back, head high… never be afraid. She had to remember that. Never show fear.

Kanryu's estate was located on the outskirts of the palace grounds, close to the center of power: a massive, sprawling complex enclosed by high walls. He had torn down his ancestral home some years before and built a Western mansion in its place. It stood out horribly among the traditional residences to either side, which was apparently precisely what he'd wanted. Kaoru knew, from Megumi, that the workshops and the training pens were behind the manor, although she wouldn't have been able to guess it if she hadn't been told. From the main street she could only see the house behind the wrought-iron gates and the long drive across a manicured lawn to the front door.

The gates opened and the carriage drove through. Kaoru braced herself as it crossed the threshold, expecting – something, a chill down her spine or a change in the air pressure – but nothing happened. There was only the crunch of gravel under the carriage wheels and the horses' hooves, and the faintly overpowering scent of flowers. She glanced behind herself, trying to see Kenshin out of the back window, but it was set too high in the carriage wall to see more than the top of his head. He was still there, though.

She stopped craning her neck and faced forwards again, schooling her face into a politely neutral expression and trying to dismiss the sudden conviction that her kimono was wrinkled and her hairdo was coming undone. They weren't. She knew that. She looked fine, _dammit_.

"…Takeda Kanryu is only a man," she murmured to herself, so softly that her lips barely moved.

The carriage came to a stop. She listened to the soft scrape of footsteps on gravel as Kenshin and the footman jumped down and came around the carriage. The door opened smoothly and then Kenshin was there, eyes still dark and unreadable – but not blank. Not since the night of the Hiruma brothers' attack. He held out his hand to help her down and she took it, and she thought that perhaps his fingers curled a little more closely around her hand than they needed to: she knew that hers did around his.

There was another slave waiting at the foot of the stairs that led up to the massive front door. He bowed low and swept his arm out, gesturing for her to proceed. Her breath caught for a moment.

Kaoru didn't have much experience with Western architecture. She'd seen a few of the newer administrative buildings in the city center, the ones done in a Western fashion, but she'd never gone inside them. Truth be told, they frightened her, a little: they were so tall and straight, made of deep red stone that could so easily crush everyone inside. There was no air, no natural light except what came through the tall, slightly clouded windows.

Kanryu's manor wasn't as tall as the new buildings, but it was much broader. Wings jutted out from either side like engulfing arms and the tall door was set back in an alcove, gaping like a monstrous mouth. Or maybe that was her imagination – it probably was her imagination, come to think of it. If she didn't know what this place was, the secrets it held, she would probably be more charitable.

But as she stared at that long walk, all she could think of was giant crouching low to devour her.

Almost too much time had passed: she needed to take the first step, now, or it would be all too obvious that she was afraid and she _must not_ be afraid but she _was_ –

Kenshin took a small step forward into her peripheral vision. She glanced over at him. He was offering his arm to her, and she stared at it for half a heartbeat before she realized what he was doing. And what Kanryu had likely been trying to do, by not having his slave offer her assistance in climbing the steps, which was warranted by virtue of her rank even though she didn't need technically need the help. Right. Everything was going to be a test, then.

She took his arm, somewhat gingerly, and started up the steps. _Small, graceful movements_, she told herself in her mother's voice. _Float through the world, and never let anyone see what it costs you_. Kenshin kept step with her effortlessly, head bowed and arm parallel to the ground. Perfect form.

Had he been trained for this, as well?

The double doors opened ahead of them to reveal another slave, a woman this time. She bowed with the same eerie, mechanical precision as the others and held it as she spoke.

"Honorable mistress, this worthless one's most revered master begs your indulgence for but a few moments, as he is unavoidably detained. If you will permit, this worthless one will show you to the east parlor."

"Very well," Kaoru said smoothly, keeping her voice even. "If you'd be so kind."

The woman straightened and turned on her heel, walking at a measured pace. Kaoru followed, still holding Kenshin's arm – for the look of the thing, yes, but also because he was the only ally she had here; other than him, she was very, very alone.

There were no screens inside the house, just walls, so the rooms couldn't be adjusted, and she couldn't help thinking that it must be dreadfully inconvenient. You'd have to make sure to build every house with enough rooms for every contingency. Or maybe Westerners didn't worry about such things. Everything they built was so _large_, after all, and she'd seen maps of the world and marveled at how very large their homelands were. Maybe they had enough space for all the rooms they'd need to build.

The east parlor was towards the rear of building. It was a crowded space, all plush Western furniture in reds and browns and the windows were doors, too, somehow: narrow glass arches that reached almost to the ceiling and opened onto a kind of circular brick porch overlookin the grounds. The sweet, floral scent was almost overwhelming now, and she thought it might be coming from the flowers that encircled the porch. They were a delicate balance of pure white and pale pink, and as Kaoru drew closer the spicy-sweet smell grew stronger, until she felt like she was choking on it. There was a note of decay to the rich perfume, a subtle one as if the flowers had grown from rotting meat.

She glanced at Kenshin. His head was still bowed, and his eyes were veiled behind his bangs, but she could see the tension the line of his jaw. It radiated out from him, through his stiff arm into her fingertips and down to her bones.

"Please be seated, honorable mistress." The woman bowed and left. Kaoru carefully untangled her arm from Kenshin's. There were several seating options; she picked the one furthest from the windows and gagging floral scent. Two chairs, with a low table between them and a view of the door. She sat down gingerly, as the material covering the seat cushion was very slick. Kenshin knelt at her feet, seeming almost to lean into her.

"It's alright," Kaoru said, as much for her sake as his. "Everything's going to be fine."

And she let her hand rest lightly on his head, fingers curling in something that was almost a caress. She did it for her own sake as much as his, and she wasn't surprised to feel a slight tug on her hem as he gripped it for a moment and then let go.

Her pulse throbbed in her temples, hard enough to hurt. She hadn't worn her hair up in anything besides a ponytail since she was very small, and she couldn't help feeling that the bun would come out if she moved her head too quickly. The peach-blossom hairpin was a cool pressure against her scalp, a single small promise: she was not helpless, she was not unarmed. This was a battle like any other, and she was her father's daughter and her mother's too. She wouldn't lose. She wasn't _allowed_ to lose; the sword that protects cannot afford to fail.

This was a battle. She would prepare herself for it like any other combat.

Kaoru's eyes slid closed and she breathed deep, past the sick-sweet reek of the flowers, past the uncertainty and the doubt and the knife-edged awareness of the man kneeling at her side, more dependent on her than any thinking being should ever be. She breathed from her navel, with a short inhale and then a long, slow exhale, feeling her way along the path of energy in her body. Her father had only just begun to teach her the refinements of energy and focus, but – but that wasn't worth thinking about, right now. She had what she had, and she would make do.

Power followed her breath, fountaining from the top of her head down to the soles of her feet and then wending its long slow way up again. Like a serpent, like a waterfall, like an undammed river returning to its natural banks. She was dimly aware of Kenshin's slow relaxation at her side, as if he could feel her equilibrium returning, and instinct told her to stroke his head so she did, just once. He leaned into her touch and she opened her eyes.

There were footsteps outside the doors. She folded her hands neatly in her lap as they swung smoothly open, and she saw Takeda Kanryu for the first time.

_If I passed him in the street_, she thought, startled, _I wouldn't even notice him_.

He was a little taller than average, well-dressed in a Western fashion, with a narrow face and carefully styled hair, and it didn't seem quite right for him to look so absolutely normal. His eyes swept the room restlessly, frowning slightly. Then he saw her and smiled as if he was truly glad to see her.

"Ah, Miss Kamiya!" he exclaimed, striding over to where she was seated. "Such a pleasure. So glad that you could make it on such short notice."

He held out his hand and for a brief, horrible moment she couldn't quite remember what she was supposed to do: then she let her own rest gently in his palm and he bowed over it. His skin felt normal, if a little feverish.

"And I see you've brought my manslayer," he continued, glancing down at Kenshin. Then his genial expression hardened, twisting like iron melting in a forge. "Why aren't you bowing, dog?"

"Excuse me?" Kaoru asked, but he wasn't talking to her. His eyes were fixed on Kenshin, who had clenched his fists in the cloth of his pants and hidden his eyes behind his bangs. He was shaking.

"Well?" Kanryu demanded. "Don't dawdle – show the proper respect. Forehead on the ground, _now!_"

Slowly, as if being pressed by a terrible weight, Kenshin's hands slid off his thighs and he began to bow.

Kaoru couldn't speak. She needed to speak. She needed to do _something_, this was happening too quickly, this was –

_This is the first move_, she thought suddenly, as the cool stillness of battle-focus poured over her. _Parry_.

"Kenshin. _Stop_." She poured every ounce of authority she had into her voice, cracking it like a whip. Kenshin froze.

_Strike._

"Sir Kanryu," she said, thinking of Megumi's slow-boiling rage and trying to put that acid sweetness in her voice, "I don't recall giving you permission to address my slave, much less give him orders."

Kanryu met her eyes. He looked like he was smiling: his mouth was curved up, and his eyes were hooded as though he was enjoying some private joke. But there was poison in his voice when he spoke.

"Do forgive me, Miss Kamiya," he said, flicking one of his bangs idly away from his face. "It seems I forget myself. I take great pride in the quality of my work, you know, and like any master craftsman it does frustrate me to see it improperly cared for."

Kenshin was shivering. She could see it out of the corner of her eyes, but she didn't dare risk a glance at him. To look away now would be disastrous; she'd already granted Kanryu an advantage by yielding the first move. Never take your eyes off your opponent.

"Oh?" Kaoru dropped her hand to Kenshin's head again and he huddled back against her legs. She could feel him trembling. "That's wonderful to know – he was in such a terrible state when I found him, I'd assumed that his former master was some kind of _brute_."

A part of herself covered its face in shame and turned away. But she couldn't afford to listen to it, couldn't take the time to feel guilty about the words coming out of her mouth. Megumi had counseled her not to be aggressive, to just focus on holding her ground but Kenshin was shaking at her feet and the man who'd done this to him – taken a boy who'd only want to help the girl he loved and made him _this_ – was standing right in front of her. She would _not_ fail. She would _win:_ she would take a pound of flesh in Kenshin's name.

Cold anger unsheathed itself within her, sharp as any blade. She never stopped smiling.

"Although your dedication to your craft is admirable," she continued, voice light as if she was chatting about the weather, "I don't appreciate anyone interfering with my property. As I'm sure you know, given the recent… disturbance."

He reared back like a snake about to strike, nostrils flaring, and Kaoru held his gaze even as it burned with violence. She kept a small, cold smile on her face, kept her fingers tangled in Kenshin's hair; she knew that she looked a _mistress _and despaired.

But if she didn't act this way, she would lose. If she showed weakness, fear or fury or any human feeling, she would lose this battle. And the sword that protects cannot afford to fail. He'd made a misstep, violating protocol in order to provoke her into attacking him blindly. Struck out at her weakest point – at her genuine care for Kenshin. But he'd ceded ground to do it because he'd underestimated her control, and it hadn't occurred to him that she might be able to play this game, to lie and pretend that she was only offended for the proper reasons.

Unless he hadn't, and this was all a test – no. The battlefield was no place to second-guess yourself. She'd cross that bridge when and if she came to it.

Kanryu looked away first, blinking his face back into an apologetic smile.

"I apologize, Miss Kamiya," he said, eyes smooth as river-glass, and bowed with one hand over his heart. "Truly. It was unpardonably rude of me. I pray you will not judge me too harshly for my… overzealousness."

He was retreating, for now. She nodded in seeming acceptance, stroking lightly through Kenshin's hair as though soothing a frightened animal, and that was what he was meant to be, wasn't he? A beloved pet, at the very best. Not human. Existing only at her convenience.

"Very well," she said carelessly, her heart breaking. "Shall we begin again, then?"

"As you wish." Kanryu smiled. "Miss Kamiya, it is my very great honor to welcome you to my humble home. I'm afraid that tea isn't quite ready, but I thought that perhaps in the meantime, I could amuse you with a tour of the grounds? The training facilities here are the oldest in Japan. There's quite a bit of historical interest, if such things strike your fancy. And the gardens are quite spectacular."

This was the next sally, she knew instinctively. And she could defend, deflect, put it off – but that would tell him that she was afraid of him, and she _would not be afraid._

"That sounds lovely," she said, and let him help her out of the chair.

* * *

The gardens were exquisite. Kanryu escorted her personally, one hand resting companionably over hers where it gripped his arm and talked lightly about the history of the estate. There was a kind of maze made of hedges which was apparently a very popular Western device; usually there was a covered seating area called a _gazebo_ in the center, but in this case the center held a small hut for the tea ceremony. It had been the Western gardener's idea, and driven his highly traditional Japanese colleague to distraction.

"He came around in the end, though," Kanryu chuckled. "They're always arguing over something or other, but the results are worth all the trouble. Otherwise I wouldn't keep them around."

"Is that so?" Kaoru felt Kenshin's presence warm at her back, and drew strength from it. For his sake, she could not flinch or shrink away: she had to meet Kanryu's challenges head-on.

"Oh, yes," he said, in an almost fatherly tone. "I'm afraid I've never had the patience for rehabilitating useless things. It's like drinking tea made of old leaves: too much effort for too little reward. I quite commend _you_, though, for your efforts in that regard. You've done marvelously, especially given the materials you had – but your inexperience does show, my dear."

"Does it?" she said, still dripping sweetness, and readied herself for the next round. "Well, that's only to be expected."

"Indeed. Why, I would venture to say that he would have turned on you by now if not for my careful work. You allow him such liberties, after all."

"I thought he was beginning to experience difficulties," she asked innocently, doing her best not to eye Kanryu's jugular in too speculative a manner. "Isn't that why you abandoned him? Or am I mistaken?"

His face flashed into that sudden, snarling violence again, gone almost as soon as it appeared, and his cordial mask stayed firmly in place as he responded.

"It's true that he was reaching the end of his usefulness to me. I require a higher standard of service, given my position."

"I suppose," she said, stopping to brush her fingers across one of the strange, strongly-scented flowers that dominated the gardens. "What are these flowers? They have such an unusual scent."

There was nothing to gain from engaging him on that ground; his family _was_ higher-ranked than hers, so the best possible option was to ignore the implied insult and change the subject.

"Roses," Kanryu informed her. "A Western breed – notice how lush the petals are? And a much stronger fragrance."

"It's almost overwhelming." She leaned in, politely pretending to inhale the scent. "And there are so many of them."

"Quite intentional. I'm afraid the professional facilities can be rather rank, especially in the summer, and it bothers the neighbors. The roses help." His smiled sharpened; his eyes gleamed cold as butcher's knife. "Are you interested in touring the workshops? As I mentioned, they're of some historical interest – and perhaps it might help your own efforts to see how things are _normally_ done."

Kaoru's heartbeat rose, thudding fast against her ribs, and she faked another long inhale to buy herself some time. She could refuse. On what grounds? That she had no interest – but the person she was pretending to be would, or could be easily talked into it, or at the very least would be indifferent enough not to potentially insult her host by turning down the offer. And he knew that she wasn't that person, but he was waiting for her to _show_ it.

"I'm sure it would be fascinating," she said finally, straightening to look him in the eyes. "But you make it sound so indelicate – the smell…"

He patted her hand indulgently. "Don't fret, my dear, I've no intention of taking you that far below stairs, as it were. That's all very technical, after all, of interest only to other craftsmen."

There was a lie in his eyes. But she couldn't think of a way to refuse without flinching. And whomever flinched first would _lose_, and she could not afford to lose.

"Then I'd be honored," she murmured through a polite smile.

Kanryu led her to the back of the gardens, where a tall flowering hedge partitioned the main estate off from the workshops and the pens. There was a single gate in it, solid wood, and locked from the estate side. He produced a key that had been hanging from a chain hidden under his shirt and unlocked the gate to reveal a long, winding stair going down a steep slope.

"This land used to be even," he explained as his escorted her down. "But about two hundred years ago, when my family began manufacturing, we had the back half of the estate lowered and the front half raised slightly. As a security measure, and to reduce irritation to the neighbors."

The slope went down a good twenty feet, and as Kaoru looked up and behind them she saw that the hedge wall hid a stone one with guards stationed every ten feet or so. They stood with unsettling stillness, like statues, and she knew without needing to see their faces that they would have slave-marks carved on their cheeks.

There were five long, low buildings with neat pathways between them: beyond that was another tall stone wall, and beyond that she caught just the barest glimpse of smoking fires and thatched roofs. Shouts echoed from beyond the second wall, and now and again the terrible crack of leather on flesh. The rotting smell was stronger here, wafting in from the rear of the estate. From behind that great stone wall.

He walked her through one of the buildings, assuring her that it was representative of all the others, although this one wasn't currently in use. This was the finishing area, apparently, where the broken slaves were trained in their various disciplines. Most already possessed valuable skills, but versatile slaves sold better: specialization was a luxury item. And of course, there was a need to teach them the correct protocol; that could take months.

"Of course," Kaoru said, nauseous. "May I ask what that building is, over there?" she asked, gesturing to the one on the far right. Unlike the others, it had no window and only one door.

"Oh, that." Kanryu waved a dismissive hand. "The medical facilities. When they come this far, there's been too much invested in them to let them die of the odd infection."

"Is the mortality rate very high, then?" she asked numbly, blood running cold with the implications.

He shrugged. "It can be. But that's only really a problem if it's been a bad breeding season."

Bile lurched up her throat, raw and foul, and she could only barely swallow it down.

"I see," she said, more faintly than she'd meant to. Kanryu smiled down at her in a way that was almost a leer.

"Since we've come this far," he said, and the hand over hers on his arm tightened so that she could not pull away, "It does seem a shame not to show you the rest. I'm sure you know that the manslayer is an item of some historical interest, and it would be a pity to squander this chance to really _understand_ his history."

He began steering her towards the gate in the second wall. Kenshin stirred behind her, his fingers brushing against the back of her kimono, and she sensed rather than saw his hand lift towards the wooden sword tucked in his belt. She made a sharp gesture with her free hand, mind racing, trying to work past rising panic and find a way out.

There wasn't one. Not one that she could see. If she refused she would only make it clear that what was behind that wall frightened her – and it _did_, because she knew what must be there and she didn't want to see, didn't want to _know _the way Megumi did, didn't want to look into the mirror and see that horror reflected in her eyes – but he would only make her look anyway.

_What Kanryu craves above all else_, Megumi had said with eyes like a corpse, _is power_.

He must not know that she was afraid.

Kenshin's hand brushed against her again, light as insect wings, and left warmth in its wake. The hairpin rustled as she walked and she reached up to adjust it, casually. The silk blossoms were cool against her skin.

_The sword that protects cannot afford to fail_. And they were such small words, so fragile, but they knit her quaking soul together.

She smiled up at Kanryu, making her eyes a mirror.

"Well, if it's no trouble…"

That flash of animal violence again; banked fury glinting in his eyes and that _meant_ something, but she couldn't spare the time to analyze it now when she was barely holding herself together.

"None at all," he said, almost through his teeth, and opened the gates to hell.

The ground beyond the gate was muddy and churned, reeking of blood and excrement. There was only one building: windowless, like the medical facilities, with a single iron door. It stood in the very back of the space, surrounded by open-sided huts – the thatched roofs she'd seen earlier. Under them huddled – people, they _were_ people, as much as they no longer looked it, not even in their eyes. She had to force herself to look at their eyes, because she owed them that: she couldn't help them but she could look, and _see_, and bear witness.

Those who weren't clustered under huts were standing, half-dead, in open pens. There were men watching over them, unbranded men bearing thin birch rods, and as she looked on one of the standing victims began to collapse. The man near his cluster strode over and started to beat the one who'd fallen. There was no passion in it. He wasn't angry: he delivered the beating carefully, efficiently, until the fallen victim struggled to their feet.

"Ah, Mr. Yamanashi," Kanryu said as one of the overseers approached. "How goes it?"

"Well enough, sir," the man grunted. "The latest batch worked as you said, though I think it's made them a bit too compliant. Makes me worry they're still hiding something, like there's still some piss and vinegar in 'em after all. Pardon my language, missy." He bowed to Kaoru.

"Of course," she said weakly. She wanted, desperately, to look at Kenshin, to apologize for this, for not being able to stop it. For not protecting him. But she didn't dare.

"Well, carry on," Kanryu said, waving his hand dismissively. "We're heading to the cells – Miss Kamiya's curious about the manslayer's history."

"Eh?" Mr. Yamanashi blinked, and seemed to really _see_ Kenshin for the first time, narrowing his eyes as he glared over her shoulder. "I'll be damned. Little shit survived after all – I knew he was tough, but _damn_. Well. Been a long time since I've seen that face."

Kaoru looked back at Kenshin then, keeping her face carefully quizzical. He was staring at the ground, eyes shielded, looking like a puppet held by a few fraying strings. Her heart leapt into her throat and she wanted, more than anything, to take him by the hand and lead him away from here – she should have _thought_, should have realized, shouldn't have let the tide of anger carry her into _fighting _Kanryu. Should have just defended, as Megumi had told her to…

She didn't say his name. But she almost did, and as her lips closed silently over the last syllable he looked up and met her eyes.

His eyes were bright, human, sparking with pain and grief and – something she had no words for.

_I'm sorry_, she tried to tell him, without words. He looked at her for a long moment.

Then he bowed his head again, but his posture seemed stronger, now. As though he'd taken something from their brief exchange.

"My dear?" Kanryu was grinning down at her like a fox in a henhouse. She smiled politely back at him.

"Oh, nothing," she chirped. "I was just surprised that anyone here still remembered Kenshin."

"Well, he is one of my most famous creations," Kanryu said, guiding her towards the long windowless building at the back. Kenshin followed behind her, closer than a shadow. "I suppose it was the lovely Dr. Takani who told you his former name?"

Shock sang through Kaoru's veins, but she held her polite social smile even as she cursed herself for a fool. Because she _had_ used his name, hadn't she, when she'd ordered him to stop his bow – and hadn't Megumi said that only one other person had known Kenshin's name…?

"She did," Kaoru managed to say, and prayed that her voice was even.

"Hmm. Well, do give her my regards. I suppose she's explained the process we used on the manslayer to you?"

"She did." Kaoru swallowed bile, heart pounding in her throat.

"Then you understand, of course, how counterproductive to the conditioning it is to allow him the use of a name?"

Rage pulsed through her, cold and sharp, and she fought back in the only way she could.

"Oh? I hadn't thought that conditioning required such careful upkeep. Given what a master craftsman you are. And besides," she said, casually, adjusting the peach-blossom hairpin, "I like his name."

Kanryu's fingers dug momentarily into her skin.

"True," he said, and couldn't quite hide the rage in his voice. "Forgive me my perfectionist ways, my dear."

"Forgiven," she said with cheer that she didn't feel as he escorted her through the iron door.

The inside of the cell block was nearly black, except for a few guttering lanterns set against the wall. There was a narrow hallway, and wooden doors lining each side with small grates set at the bottom. Low moans echoed through the building: muffled sobs and, as they stood there, a single heart-wrenching scream. She closed her eyes, throat raw with swallowed bile and unshed tears.

"Ah." Kanryu looked in the direction of the scream. "It does take them that way, sometimes. You know, of course, about the drug regime?"

"I do."

"It's administered here." He led her down the hall, and she didn't want to go but she couldn't stop, couldn't show that she was afraid, had to keep going _no matter what_. "The initial dosages are quite potent, enough that the latter half of the treatment – what you saw outside – would be largely ineffective. That's more of a shaping; this is where they're broken. So every slave starts here, in the cells." He paused before one door, the same as any of the others. "This one, as I recall, was the manslayer's."

He let go of her arm and opened the door. Kenshin let out a small, choked cry, staring into the black cell with shock-wide eyes. Kaoru could just barely get the shape of it in the dim lantern light: rectangular, and only barely large enough to sit in. He couldn't possibly have lain down in it, even as small as he was; he would have had to sleep curled on his side, or propped against the wall.

Was that why he never used the futon she'd given him?

The walls were discolored. She took a step closer, sickly fascinated. They were covered in scratch marks and stains – blood and other, fouler things.

"It's not being used right now," Kanryu said idly. "Would you like a closer look? I can send for a torch."

She looked back at him, standing in the hall with a ghoulish grin: she looked at Kenshin, staring into the black cell as though he'd seen his own death – which he had. This was the place where he'd died, where that fourteen-year-old boy who'd loved a village girl had been lost forever…

And she waited for the rage. She waited for the horror. She waited for the pity.

They didn't come.

Instead, unfolding inside her like a toxic bloom, was _disgust_. Pure, acidic repugnance, untouched by horror or rage: at Kanryu, at this place, at herself for believing the myth, that Kanryu was some mythical monster.

This was Kanryu's master stroke? This was all he had? The screams of the damned and cell that smelled of blood and shit? And he was standing there, smirking like a magician, like this was supposed to _break_ her –

He truly thought that she was that weak, that she would cry and flinch like a child from the truth of the world.

He thought so _little_ of her.

"That won't be necessary," she said coolly, drawing herself up to her full height. "Well. This has certainly been… informative." She met Kanryu's eyes, unflinching. "Honestly, though, I'm not that interested in the past. Where a person came from doesn't matter as much as where they're going, don't you think?"

He started to say something and she turned her head sharply away, cutting him off.

"Kenshin. Come on, we're leaving."

Kenshin swallowed and, moving as if underwater, slowly turned from the cell and came to her side. His face was ashen and her contempt for Kanryu surged again: was that the best he could do? Hurt a man whom he'd already broken?

"Thank you very much for your hospitality," she said, taking Kenshin's arm. His muscles were stiff under her hand. "I would stay for tea, but unfortunately I have another engagement after this, and it's taken longer than I thought it would. I don't want to be late – courtesy is _so_ important."

Kaoru began to walk away and then Kanryu's hand was on her arm, forcing her to turn, and his face never lost that smooth grin even as his grip became tight enough to bruise.

"Ah, Miss Kamiya, I'm afraid I must insist – "

"_Get your hand off me._" The words burst out of her, white-hot with scorn, and the power in them forced him back a step, his grip on her arm undone. "Sir."

She felt something shifting as she stared him down, willing herself to look past her fear, past what he'd done to _who he was_ and saw something flinch away from her in the depths of his eyes. He knew what she'd seen, and for a moment the mirror cracked and she realized, suddenly, that he hated her. He hated everything: he sought power because he had none, because no matter how hard he tried he could never quite make the world be exactly as he wanted.

He was, after all – as she'd told herself over and over and not quite believed – _only a man_. Or not even a man, just a child who'd never learned that it was wrong to pick the wings off flies. A spoiled, angry child.

"Good day," she said politely – because courtesy cost her nothing, now – and left.

* * *

The tide of revulsion carried her past the gate and as far as the first river outside Kanryu's neighborhood before it ebbed and she found herself standing on a riverbank in a strange part of the city, the scent of the training pens clinging like bitter perfume and Kenshin shaking at her side. Her stomach lurched, and kept lurching, and she had just enough time to disentangle herself from Kenshin's arm before the light breakfast she'd managed to choke down that morning came back up again. She heaved, gut churning, and fell to her knees. Her throat was raw and there was nothing left after the first bout – she hadn't eaten much to begin with and it had been hours – but she kept retching and retching, until tears formed in the corners of her eyes and snot began to run down her face and she was sobbing, huge ugly choking sobs in between dry heaves.

Then Kenshin's hand was on her back, wide and warm between her shoulderblades as he knelt beside her, and that made it worse. Because he wasn't offering comfort out of kindness; he was required to, bound by chains not of his own making, when he must be far more tormented than her by what they'd seen. She'd only walked through it; he'd _lived_ it, that mud and that horror and the stench of human waste.

And even if he had been offering it freely, she wouldn't have deserved it. She'd promised him, promised herself, and she'd failed: she'd let Kanryu hurt him, _again_…

"Mistress – " he started to say, voice low and expressionless, and she couldn't look at him, didn't dare meet his eyes.

"Don't _call_ me that!" she nearly wailed. "I hate it! I _hate_ it! I don't – I could accept it before because, because I was protecting you, because I promised I would keep you safe and I couldn't, I let him hurt you again – I was proud and angry and I thought I could fight him and – and he _hurt you_, and I couldn't even make him _bleed_ for it – and I'm so, so sorry – "

"What do you require, mistress?" he persisted. She shook her head, flinching away from his hand at her back and still unable to look him in the face. There was too much shame.

"Don't ask me that," she whispered, voice cracking. "I don't deserve to – just – just get us home, Kenshin. Please. Let's just go home."

Her throat ached and she could barely keep her head up. Still, she fished her handkerchief from her sleeve and cleaned herself up as best she could after Kenshin silently withdrew. There was no point in distressing anyone else, or drawing unnecessary attention.

She heard wheels creaking along the road and turned from the river. A rickshaw was pulling up, apparently in response to Kenshin's hail. The runner wore the Tokujiro company's crest, and thankfully had no slave-mark on his cheek.

"Where to, young miss?" he asked cheerfully as she stepped in as quickly as she could, before Kenshin could reach out his hand to help her. Like most rickshaws, there was space between the runner's posts and the passenger's seat for a slave to kneel, and Kaoru closed her eyes in brief agony.

"Kenshin," she said quietly. "It's your choice."

He looked at her for a long moment, unblinking, as if he was startled or thinking or both. Then, slowly, he climbed in and settled himself at her feet.

As she gave the driver his directions, she felt Kenshin's hand clench her skirts.

* * *

Home had never looked more like itself: the familiar sight of the gates had never come has a more absolute relief than they did when the rickshaw finally pulled up in front of the shallow steps leading up to it. Kaoru paid the runner quickly – more than the ride was worth, by the depth of his bow – and thanked him. Kenshin moved like an old man when he got out of the rickshaw, like he had lead in his bones.

He'd held on to her skirts all the way home.

She thought that she could bear to look at him now, and saw that his face was drawn tight across his bones, skin ashen and eyes almost back to that unsettling blankness. He followed her mechanically, mirroring her movements, and it was such a horrible reversion to his earliest days with her that she almost had to look away again.

They made it up the stairs and through the gate, and then he stumbled. She turned to him, put her arm around him out of pure instinct – remembering the first time, him covered in bloody mud and her heart beating out of her chest, frightened out of her mind but so certain that she was doing the right thing – and he collapsed against her, giving her his full weight as he never had before. She bore it; it was the least she could do, probably the only thing she'd done right since she'd said that he could come with her to Kanryu's estate.

Somehow, they made it indoors. She steered him into the parlor – it was closest to the door – and eased him down onto the mats. He slid bonelessly off her shoulders, catching himself only enough to kneel instead of falling. She knelt in front of him, trying to find his eyes under his bangs.

"Kenshin. Kenshin, please…"

He didn't respond. It was his first week all over again – his head bowed, staring at his limp hands resting on the tops of his thighs, shoulders slumped and caving in as if to make himself half his true size.

"I'm sorry," she pleaded. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't – don't run away again. Kenshin. Tell me – please, I'll fix this just – tell me _how_…"

And he still didn't respond, couldn't. She almost grabbed his hands but didn't quite dare: she'd never touched him that fully before, never _been_ touched by him that way, except…

Except that night, when the storm had broken. In the aftermath.

Instinct took her and she scrambled to the nearest bedroom. He was reverting, physically, but this _wasn't_ that first week and he wasn't the cringing half-animal he'd been. He'd changed, in his time with her: he'd been growing more human by the day. She had to believe – to have faith in him, if not in herself, in the small signs he'd been leaving. In a plate of riceballs by the training hall door, in his instinctive reach for her whenever he was afraid and that single, terrible request he should never have been able to make…

_Let this work_, she prayed as she yanked a spare blanket from the wardrobe. _Let me be right_. _Let me fix my mistake…_

Kenshin seemed to have grown even smaller in the brief time that she'd been gone. He looked completely alone, huddled in the center of the room as if he was trying not to touch anything, or breath too hard. As if he knew that no matter what he did, what choice he made, there would be pain.

"Kenshin," she called softly, footsteps slowing as she entered the room. "It's alright."

Carefully, Kaoru draped the blanket around him. His hands came up, paused, and then fell to his lap again; she kept her grip on the edges of the cloth and wrapped her arms around him, intending to tuck it in under his chin. As she embraced him he seemed almost to sigh. Then his full weight was against her, leaning on her, and suddenly she was the only thing holding him up.

Unshed tears swelled in her throat, nearly choking her as his hair brushed against her cheek. His eyes were still open and staring into nothing, but his head was resting on her shoulder and he was curling into her, relaxing as her arms tightened around him.

"It's over," she murmured. "It's over and it's done and you're safe now. It's always safe here, you _know_ that."

His breath hitched. She made soothing sounds, nonsense syllables dimly remembered from her own childhood, and stroked his back through the blanket instead of his hair because she didn't want to remind him that he was owned, only tell him that he was loved. She could admit that to herself, in this strange intimacy: that she loved him, at least a little, the way she loved Yahiko and Sano and Megumi and maybe even Aoshi Shinomori, whom she'd only just met but that hadn't meant she didn't see the hollow place behind his eyes.

_The sword that protects_. It meant so, so much more than simply fighting.

"It's alright," she told him again, fierce and tender. "It's alright."

He was a feverish warmth in her arms, heavy and hot and shaking slightly. She held onto him as best she could, rocking a little, remembering the worst moments of Yahiko's illness. When she'd finally understood that he was only a little boy, only a child who'd seen and suffered more than any child should. Remembering her mother and her father and the comfort that had flowed from them as naturally as breathing, and hoping that she could be the same way.

After what could have been minutes or hours, Kenshin finally stirred. She relaxed her grip and he start to sit up; it took him a little while and she waited patiently, letting him brace himself against her. Finally he was kneeling just before her, head bowed and eyes shaded, and she was left holding an empty blanket.

"Miss – " he started to say, and then stopped.

"Miss – " he said again, ending with a strange, choked consonant and gasping for air afterwards. Kaoru leaned towards him, concerned.

"Kenshin…"

"Miss." A deep breath. "Miss. K-kao-kaoru. Miss Kaoru." And he bowed, trembling like a newborn thing. "Forgive this worthless one. Misstr – Miss Kaoru."

"Don't apologize," she said automatically, dazed, as the world shifted and tilted around her. He'd said her _name_. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yes, Miss K-kaoru." He still stumbled over it, almost mumbling, but he was _saying her name_.

He looked up, wary, and straightened from his bow. His eyes were bright, and very human.

"Miss Kaoru," he said again, staring at her, and she couldn't look away. And he didn't smile, although she wanted him to, thought that he should: a small, shy smile, uncertain. But he didn't, and he wouldn't, not yet.

"I'll make lunch," she said inanely. "You should rest. I'm – you need to rest. I'll make lunch," she repeated.

"Yes, Miss Kaoru," he said obediently, and stilled. He wouldn't leave the room until she did.

"Get some rest," she said again, and started to leave. Then she paused in the doorway and turned back to face him. He was watching her, his strange eyes – not quite blue, not quite purple, but shading in between – alight with something that she didn't dare name for fear of being wrong.

"I – " she started to say, and then looked away. Heat rose in her face. "I, um – I – thank you," she blurted out, finally. "Thank you, Kenshin. For – for not calling me – for using my name."

And before she could see his reaction, she fled.

* * *

Megumi read the report again. She had already read it twice, once to know, again to comprehend, and now she read it a third time in the hopes that she had been wrong the first two. Then she set it carefully down on the desk.

"Well," she said, voice echoing hollowly in her own ears. "I had thought it was too good to last."

"I'm sorry." Shinomori was kneeling in front of her. He put his hand on the report, his fingers not quite touching hers, and she met his glass-green eyes with equanimity. "Dr. Takani. I am sorry."

"You haven't showed this to Sagara?"

He shook his head, bangs falling over his eyes. She closed her own, breathing deep, remembering that she breathed free air.

"Don't let him know," she said softly, not quite asking. "Not yet. He – there may yet be a way…"

Her voice cracked. Shinomori was silent, knowing that he didn't need to say what they both knew: that her time was running out faster than they'd thought, that this – this new project, this new _horror_ would require her expertise, sooner or later. And then it would be unleashed on the rebels, armed with the information that _she_ would give to Kanryu, sooner or later. One day, she could hold out. Perhaps two. But sooner or later, she would break. Sooner or later, everyone broke.

They'd always known that she was bait, had _counted_ on her being used as such. But they weren't ready, not anymore, to turn the trap against Kanryu and the shōgunate. Not since the captain's death.

"You have to tell Kyoto," she said suddenly. "If this doesn't convince those idiots to get their act together, nothing will. With any luck, we can get back to where we were a year ago, with this," and she tapped the report, "serving as an impetus. Surely they'll see how important it is to set their differences aside."

"And if they don't?" Shinomori's eyes were clear and still as the surface of a pond. Megumi smiled, hard and small and bitter as an apricot pit.

"If they don't…" Her eyes darkened. "If they don't, I will do what must be done."

Shinomori looked, for a moment, as if he wanted to say something. Then he inclined his head, one warrior to another, and left her to the lengthening shadows.


	10. save your heart and take your soul

**A/n: And we're back.**

**I have changed the update schedule slightly: instead of updating every week, I will be updating every two weeks, so that _Invictus_ and _Vaster Than Empires_ will each be updated once a month. I'm not going to have the kind of free time I did in the spring, and this will allow me to get quality chapters out on a regular schedule.**

**See you on the 24th (which is also my birthday!) for the next installment of _Vaster Than Empires_!**

* * *

Something had changed, and Yahiko didn't know what to do about it.

It wasn't just that Kenshin had stopped calling Kaoru _mistress_, although that was certainly a change and a good one; it made Yahiko think that maybe Megumi had been right after all, and somehow what they were doing was working. But it wasn't only that and it wasn't only Kenshin who had changed. Kaoru hardly ever raised her voice anymore, even when he called her ugly. Sano barely spoke, only brooded about with his hands thrust in his pockets. Megumi acted like nothing was different at all, until you saw her eyes: there was something there like old tree branches.

And lately he'd begun to feel too big for his skin, like something inside him was trying to grow past the borders of flesh and bone, and that wasn't a _bad_ feeling, exactly. Except that the same something was itching in the back of his throat and he didn't know how to let it out, this thing that felt like standing on the edge of a cliff and looking down to see waves pounding on the rocks.

He'd sworn to himself the first time Kaoru put a wooden sword in his hands that he would never, ever be helpless again. That he would learn how to fight and the next time someone came and tried to take what was _his_ – to hurt the people and the places he loved – they wouldn't be able to. He'd stop them. He'd make them _pay_.

And he'd made Kihei pay, in blood and bruises and flinching terror.

So why didn't it feel good?

Kihei had been a wretched slug of a man, more than halfway to monster. He'd tried to hurt Kaoru. He'd attacked Yahiko's home. He'd –

He'd looked utterly pathetic, lying on the muddy ground and whimpering. And later, in the courtroom, twitching and flinching and cowering away, with his scrapes barely healed and bruises turning a sickly yellow-brown. Yahiko had remembered, then, something that Kaoru had said offhandedly once a long time ago, quoting her father, about how monsters were always smaller in the sunlight. It should have pleased him to think that he had made this monster small but it didn't: it made him feel small himself, and sick inside.

But Kihei wouldn't have let something like that stop him, he'd argued with himself, and as soon as he'd thought it a quiet voice had said back _but aren't you supposed to be better than Kihei?_

The sword that protects. He'd thought he understood what it meant – in order to protect someone, you have to be strong, right? – but as he'd stood in the courtroom with Sano glowering over his shoulder (and _Sano_ was strong, and Sano hadn't been there and what good did strength do anyone if you weren't _there?_) he'd thought that maybe he hadn't understood at all.

Yahiko sighed, resting his head against the porch pillar, and watched Kenshin calmly drawing a bucket of water from the well. The day had been bright and almost as warm as a proper spring; the sun was still half-hidden under the clouds, but at least it had shown its face. Now evening was coming in, and the sun was beginning its downward arc towards the horizon. The air was calm, and smelled like new growth.

Kaoru and Sano had been gone since lunch, and warned him not to expect them back until after dark. So he'd grabbed some takeout from the Akabeko, enough for both him and Kenshin, and managed to get home before Kenshin started cooking. Kenshin had stiffened when Yahiko told him to leave off and laid out the meal, relaxing just the slightest hair when Yahiko had grabbed his own portion and gestured for Kenshin to take the rest. He'd retreated into the kitchen to eat, but at least he'd eaten. Yahiko had been half-afraid that he'd accidentally trampled over one of the hundred and ten bizarre rules that constrained the older man, but he'd cooked every night that he was physically able and it was about time that he had a break.

Kenshin carried the bucket into the kitchen: when he came back out, he paused for a moment, eyes shaded by his long red hair. Then he went and knelt at the side of what was _supposed_ to be a garden but was really just an overgrown corner of the courtyard that Kaoru hadn't had the time to do anything about. He studied the ground for a long moment, long enough that Yahiko decided to amble over and see what was going on.

"What's up?" he asked, crouching down next to Kenshin. Kenshin's head lowered a little further, and Yahiko thought he saw his shoulders rise up, as if he was preparing to flinch away.

"Miss Kaoru instructed this worthless one to maintain the house in good order," he said, after a pause.

Yahiko considered this, glancing out at the weedy garden patch. More weed than garden, really – but as far as he knew Kaoru hadn't actually _told_ Kenshin to tend to the garden, not in so many words…

So maybe this was something Kenshin had decided to do himself? He'd been making choices for a while now, but only when prompted; as far as Yahiko knew, this was the first time he'd indicated that he wanted to do something on his own. If he was, in fact, doing that. Maybe Kaoru _had_ told him to see to the garden.

Then again, did it really matter what Kaoru might have told Kenshin to do?

He knew that it did, at least to Kenshin – but it _shouldn't_, and that felt more important.

"I think there's some garden tools in the storehouse, up in the loft," he said, standing. "You want me to go get them?"

Kenshin bowed hurriedly to him, starting to get up. "This worthless one will – "

"No, no," Yahiko waved and Kenshin paused, startled. "It's a really good idea. I want to help." Yahiko started toward the storehouse, calling back over his shoulder. "You figure out where to start, okay? I'll get the tools."

The garden tools were where Yahiko remembered them being, rolled up in cloth in the loft behind a stack of broken training dummies in various stages of repair and a disassembled rack of some kind. They were set next to a small box, one that Yahiko didn't remember, that was marked with a family crest that Yahiko didn't recognize. Although he had the strongest feeling that he _should_.

He traced the crest, frowning. A thick, horizontal line, and three dots beneath, balanced in an inverted pyramid. It looked familiar. _Really_ familiar. And the box wasn't nearly dust-covered enough to have been in the loft for long. No one ever cleaned up here: everything in the loft was either broken or too rarely needed to bother with storing in the main room. But he'd never seen anything with that mark on it in either the house or the training hall before.

It wasn't very big – not much larger than a soup pot – but it was heavy, as he discovered when he picked it up and gave it an exploratory rattle. Something jangled and clinked inside it – many somethings, small and metallic and frankly sounding an awful lot like _money_. He'd never been a very good cat burglar, but he had been an _excellent _pickpocket and he'd swiped enough full purses to know the sound of hard cash.

What was a very full box of money doing in Kaoru's loft? It could all be spare change or nails or something else innocuous, he supposed… but there was a seal around the edge, and a lock, and – the whole thing just seemed suspicious.

Yahiko put the box carefully back where he'd found it, doing his best to hide where the dust had been disturbed, and climbed down the ladder with the cloth-wrapped tools tucked under one arm. Kenshin was standing in the center of the storehouse, holding himself too still.

"They're kinda rusty. Is that okay?" Yahiko asked, a little hesitant. It was hard, talking to Kenshin: the thought of speaking to him the way Kaoru did made him feel sick. The way Kaoru _had to_, he reminded himself, because she was the mistress and there were rules and Megumi had explained that Kenshin couldn't be forced into breaking the rules he'd been bound with. He had to break them on his own, or he'd be too scared to function. All they could do was show him that it would be safe if he did.

But even knowing all that, it still felt wrong.

He wondered how Kaoru could stand it.

Yahiko held out the rolled-up cloth and Kenshin took it, unrolling it and looking over the tools with bowed head and slumped shoulders. He still had a tendency to collapse in on himself, but it had grown markedly less over the past few weeks. Ever since he and Kaoru come back from Kanryu's manor (whole and sane and Yahiko hadn't realized until they were safely home how bone-scared he'd been of things that he still didn't dare name, even in the privacy of his nightmares).

"…forgive this worthless one for troubling you, young master," Kenshin said carefully, and swallowed hard.

"It's not troubling." Yahiko turned slightly away, idly wrenching a half-dislodged slat of the ladder into place. "It's my home too, y'know."

Kenshin bowed his head at that, turned, and left. Yahiko followed, mulling over the box. If it was money, it was a _lot_ of it, more than Kaoru made in a year. It could be something else, maybe, but he couldn't imagine what else would make that distinctive sound. Kaoru would have been over the moon if she'd lucked into a windfall like that, so she must not know about it. So who could have left it there?

He cast an uneasy glance over to Kenshin as the older man knelt again at the edge of the garden patch. It couldn't be someone trying to frame Kaoru again, could it? The Hiruma brothers were in jail, after all; then again, that didn't mean they didn't have allies somewhere. And they were the kind of nasty-minded little creeps who'd seek revenge, even if – hell, _especially_ if – they were beaten by the rules of their own game.

Yahiko shook his head. There wasn't anything he could do about it now. He'd ask Kaoru about it when she got back.

Instead of fretting, he sat down on the ground next to Kenshin and watched for a moment. Kenshin was pulling up weeds with a careful, methodical efficiency. He'd hidden his eyes behind his bangs again, and Yahiko thought he saw a quaver in his fingers as he dug them deep into the soil, curling them around a particularly stubborn set of roots.

"So, are we just pulling everything up?"

Kenshin started, then finished pulling up the weed and set it on the small pile that he'd accumulated.

"…no, young master," he said, and Yahiko could see the effort that it took: there was a dreadful tension in Kenshin's jaw that he'd only seen once before, on the day that the policemen had come and tried to take him away.

"Can you show me what not to pull up?"

Another almost-twitch, and Kenshin rose silently to his feet. He pointed to a handful of plants, easily distinguishable from the weeds.

"Okay," Yahiko said, and slid himself over to the other side of the garden. "You get that side, I'll get this side, and we'll meet in the middle. And – um – " He fidgeted. "You know, you don't have to call me 'young master' and stuff. Just Yahiko's fine. I mean, if that's okay."

Kenshin stilled again, for a single long heartbeat – and Yahiko was certain he'd overstepped somehow, broken some rule that he hadn't been told about and hadn't managed to suss out on his own – but then, slowly, Kenshin sank back down.

"As you wish, young sir. Ya – Yahiko. Sir Yahiko."

He began to weed again, and Yahiko thought that he saw something move in Kenshin's face, something that wasn't quite a smile, but it wanted to be.

The ground was softer then Yahiko thought it would be. There was some resistance at first, but there was rich, wet soil under the hard-packed surface, and he was surprised to discover a certain pleasure in working the earth by hand. Well, mostly hand – weeds had to come out by the roots, and sometimes the roots went deep. But there was a tool for that, and it was easy to get the trick of digging down and loosening the greedy things, cutting through minor capillaries to extract the largest part. He wasn't sure why he didn't need to worry about those smaller veins shooting off from the main trunk, but Kenshin seemed to know what he was doing and he'd shaken his head when Yahiko had asked what to do about them. So Yahiko figured that meant that they didn't matter.

He didn't really know anything about gardens, or any kind of planting or growing. He was samurai, after all, and even though he'd been a pickpocket and a street rat, too – even though his family had fallen into debt and been disgraced, losing their position among the shōgun's thousands of retainers – he had never _stopped_ being samurai. You didn't, no matter how far you fell. And samurai didn't grow things. That was peasant work.

It was kind of nice, though. Not fun, exactly, because it was hard work, but a kind of warm, solid feeling started filling up his chest as he watched the clear space slowly growing from the edges of the plot into the middle of the tangled chaos, raw earth all churned up black and ready for planting.

Kenshin had cleared a lot more ground than he had. Yahiko sat back on his heels, studying him for a moment. Kenshin worked calmly, steadily, without fuss – he did _everything_ without fuss. The only times Yahiko had ever seen him rattled were during the whole thing with the Hirumas. First when Kihei had tried to buy him, and for a brief moment after Gohei's assault. Yahiko had knelt down at Kaoru's side and Kenshin had looked at Yahiko, with a crack in his eyes like a broken mirror. _Someone_ had been looking out from those eyes, someone altogether more wounded and afraid than the cipher Kenshin normally was.

Maybe that was the person Kaoru always saw, when she looked at him.

Kenshin raised his head, as if he'd heard Yahiko's thoughts. Then he looked towards the gate.

"Miss Kaoru is returning, young master," he said flatly, and gathered the uprooted weeds in his arms. Yahiko followed suit, dumping his weeds in a pile against the wall along with Kenshin's. Kenshin spun around as soon as he'd dealt with his armful, almost – but not quite – hurrying to the gate.

"Kenshin!" Kaoru sounded happy to be home, happy to see them: yet her eyes were remote. "And Yahiko. I didn't think you two would still be outside at this hour."

The sun was almost under the horizon, but here was plenty of light to see by, and would be for another hour or so.

"We were clearing that old garden patch," Yahiko said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the right general direction. "It was Kenshin's idea."

Kenshin was holding himself too still again. Kaoru glanced past them, to the garden, and smiled – and this was a real one. Yahiko had seen enough of her false ones lately to know the difference.

"Really? That's great! It's about time _someone_ did something with that old patch."

A subtle exhale, and Kenshin's calm returned. More than calm: he seemed to lean into her space the same way that a tree's leaves slowly turned to follow the sun. It made Yahiko's throat clench with things he had no words for, no words that mattered, anyway. Anything he could think to say would sound like he _blamed_ Kaoru for this, when it wasn't her fault. He knew as well as anyone did what it cost her to give Kenshin even this much peace.

"I thought you and Sano weren't going to be back 'til later," he continued.

"We're not back," she said, starting towards the storehouse. "I'm just stopping here to get something. You shouldn't bother waiting up, either of you – we're going to be out pretty late."

"_How_ late?" Yahiko called, alarmed at her brisk pace. She was honing in on the storehouse like an angry wasp, and her shoulders were tight as a fraying rope under her jacket. Her wooden sword was at her side, and she was wearing hakama over her kimono. Kenshin trotted behind her like a dog at heel and Yahiko felt another little twist in his gut at the comparison.

"_Late!_" she called back, opening the door. "Don't worry! It's alright, Kenshin, I don't need any help," she said quickly as he started to follow her in. "We'll be back before morning, okay?"

The door slid shut. Yahiko frowned and started walking towards the storehouse. Kenshin stood at the top of the stairs, waiting, and before Yahiko could even get halfway across the yard the door opened again and Kaoru emerged with a small wooden box in her arms. There was a mark on the box: a family crest of one thick horizontal lines and three dots beneath, balanced in an inverted pyramid.

Yahiko's stomach dropped.

"What'd you need to get?" he asked, too-casually, but Kaoru didn't seem to notice.

"Oh, just something of Sano's," she breezed, heading back towards the gate and tucking the small, narrow box into her jacket. "Nothing important, just some old stuff he promised to keep safe for a friend while he was out of the country. And now the friend's back, so Sano has to hand it over."

"And that's going to take all night?"

"Well, you know how Sano is when he's meeting old friends. They'll be at it until sunrise. And he really wants me to meet this guy – I think he's trying to set me up." An exasperated look crossed her face. "_Honestly_. As if I have the time."

Yahiko responded automatically, with a jab about her looks or her weight or her lack of womanly graces, and it got the desired response because he had to dodge a smack as she went out the gate. But he didn't know what he'd said: his mind was static and his veins were ice because _Kaoru was lying_. She was good – really good, considering that he didn't think she'd ever really lied before – but she'd never had to lie for her life and he had. He'd needed to make others trust him, and know who to trust, in order to survive.

She was _lying_ to him. Something was happening, something big, and she didn't think she could _trust_ him to know the truth about it.

"Hell with _that_," he muttered, and looked around the dojo with a thief's eyes. He couldn't just follow her out the gate; she might notice. But there was a tree growing by the wall nearby…

It was the work of moments to climb it, and he saw her vanishing into the distance towards the bay. The gap between the branch and the wall was nothing: he could have crossed it blindfolded and one-handed. And if she thought she was going to get into trouble, maybe get hurt, maybe _killed_ and that he was going to just let that happen without even –

Well. He _was_ the man of the house, after all.

Yahiko balanced on the top of the wall, preparing to jump, when a soft voice called up to him from the courtyard.

"Young sir."

Kenshin. Yahiko looked down to see the older man standing loosely at the foot of the tree, looking up at him with a wide gaze that was almost worried.

"Don't worry," Yahiko told him. "I know she's up to something, too. I won't let anything happen to her. It'll be okay."

Then he jumped off the wall and headed after Kaoru.

He didn't look back: if he had, he would have seen – after a long, fraught pause – a blur of brown and red as Kenshin jumped the wall in one swift movement and followed.

* * *

It was easy to tail Kaoru: after all, she didn't think she was being followed. Yahiko's stomach got smaller and smaller as the neighborhood got worse and worse. She was aiming for the docks, and for the _old_ docks, too – not the shining, well-patrolled harbors used by foreign ships and dignitaries. No Western trade ever came to these piers, just old fisherman, set in their ways, and local merchants who couldn't afford better berth or didn't want to. It was the last place that someone like Kaoru should ever go. The silk clothes and bright ribbon that marked her as a woman of status and worthy of respect in her own neighborhood made her nothing but a target, here.

At least she seemed to know it. Her stride lengthened and her back straightened as she walked along, looking neither right nor left, her hand resting carefully on the hilt of her wooden sword. Most of the scum slunk out of her way, unwilling to take a chance on someone who walked with that much confidence, but enough of them eyed her with growing speculation that Yahiko's fist clenched helplessly. He hoped that she'd meet up with Sano soon.

Her destination was a dive bar in the middle of the neighborhood, just a block or so away from the water. Smokey light poured through the slatted windows out into the street, along with laughter, the odd feminine squeal and the occasional shrieks of a poorly-tuned shamisen as it reached for the high note and missed. She slid inside; a minute later, she and Sano emerged, his arm draped carelessly around her shoulders. They might have looked like lovers slinking off into the night in search of somewhere more private, if you didn't see the wary caution on both their faces.

Yahiko let them get a little further away before he resumed his tail. Sano was good, really good, and he'd need to be more careful now.

They made their way down to the water's edge and started wandering out of town, far past the streetlights and even the pretense of respectability. It took Yahiko a few minutes to realize where they were headed, and as soon as he did everything fell into place.

Even before the country had been opened to Western trade there had been smugglers in Edo Bay. There were more, now that trade was so unregulated, but they still used the same old landing points and the police still turned the same blind eye, as long as the bribes were paid and nobody stepped over any lines. Kaoru and Sano were headed towards one of the more secure spots, one Yahiko was fairly sure that even the police didn't know about. Which explained the box full of money, but didn't explain anything else. What would Kaoru want from smugglers? Where did she get the money to pay them? And what was Sano – no, he was probably helping her. After all, how would she know how to contact smugglers without him…?

But why was he helping her? It had to be something important to her, _really_ important. Otherwise Sano would have talked her out of it, or found some other way.

Maybe…

Yahiko swallowed, throat suddenly dry and swollen tight with things he couldn't afford to feel right now. Maybe something _had_ happened, that day that she and Kenshin went to Kanryu's manor. And – well, she'd said, when Kenshin first came to stay with them, that she might have to leave the country – so maybe – maybe she was arranging passage under the radar so that she and Kenshin couldn't be followed.

But Kaoru would have _told_ him!

Unless she couldn't take him – or it was so important that she couldn't stay no matter what, couldn't even afford to give him a choice of whether to stay or go with her…

Yahiko rubbed furiously at his eyes and kept following, stomach knotting around his spine.

Eventually, the rotted and untended wood of the piers ended and a muddy trail leading up a low, forested cliff began. Sano stopped to light a small, hooded lantern, and then he and Kaoru started up the path. It cast just enough light in front of them to avoid a misstep. Tonight was a smuggler's moon, dark and clouded, and there were no streetlights in the forest.

A light breeze rustled the trees, soft counterpoint to the small waves shushing against the shore. It tugged at Yahiko's clothes and brushed against his hair, smelling of salt and dead fish, and he slid off his sandals and put them inside his shirt to move a little more quietly.

The lantern made Kaoru and Sano easy to follow, if you knew what to look for. The small circle of light bobbed in front of them like a will-o-wisp, not large enough to give away their position – not unless you already knew they were there. They followed the path all the way to the top of the bluff. There was a small clearing there, at the very top, overlooking the ocean and shielded by the forest. Yahiko hung back at the treeline, crawling carefully under a low bush and making sure to darken his clothes with mud and earth as he did so. Then he settled in to wait.

It wasn't long before three men emerged from the edge of a cliff, appearing as if by magic – probably a hidden door of some kind, on that led down to the caves below. Yahiko couldn't quite hear what they were saying, but their actions were clear enough as they stopped just out of Kaoru and Sano's reach. The leader rubbed his fingers together, grinning.

Kaoru reached towards her jacket and Sano stepped quickly in front of her, shaking his head. The leader scowled and crossed his arms. Sano mirrored him, glaring.

A sharp gesture and a barked order. One of the men disappeared again and came back a few heartbeats later, carrying a large box with the help of a fourth. They set it down between their boss and Sano and backed slowly away. The fourth man didn't leave.

Sano waved at the box. The boss waved at his men. One of them came forward with a crowbar and pried off the top, then stepped back to let Sano inspect whatever was inside. He reached his hand in and pulled out a rifle, and Yahiko had to jam his fist into his mouth to stifle his exclamation.

Weapons smuggling. _Weapons_ smuggling! But – why would Kaoru – why would Sano – ?

A twig cracked behind him. He froze, heart thudding an unsteady tattoo against his ribs. His free hand dug into the earth, feeling the grains, horribly reminiscent of the peaceful garden. And, very slowly, he turned his head.

There were men in the forest, armed men, crouching with rifles out and eyes fixed on Kaoru and Sano. And they were definitely _not_ policemen.

Now Sano let Kaoru step up to his side and take out the box of money. The leader took it with an unctuous bow and opened it, checking the contents. A smile slid across his face like scum on an oil slick, and Sano knelt down to pick up his goods.

Slowly, carefully, Yahiko pulled himself into a crouch and got his toes gripping the ground, tensing to bolt. The armed men could just be insurance, in case the deal went wrong for the smugglers. Or they could be something else entirely. He fixed his eyes on the smuggler's leader, afraid to blink even for a moment.

The leader said something. Kaoru turned, surprise written on her features even in the dim lantern light. He touched her sleeve and she _let_ him, damn her: Sano frowned and knocked the man's hand away, shouldering the box of rifles with one arm. He pointed to the money box; the leader shook his head, grinning like the shit-eating pig he was.

Yahiko clenched his hands in the dirt. Sano was angry now, and Kaoru was yanking on his sleeve. She knew as well as Yahiko did what Sano was like when he got going – anger always made him a bit stupid, and this was – _not_ the time to be stupid –

The armed men shifted to a ready position. Yahiko watched the leader, waiting for the signal that had to be coming.

The leader clicked his fingers together, and his men fanned out behind him. Yahiko spared a glance for the riflemen and saw them lifting the guns to their shoulders, saw the low red spark of their flints –

"Sano! Kaoru! _It's a trap!"_

He exploded from the trees, bullets whizzing past him. One grazed his shoulder. Sano had whirled when he shouted and now he bounded over to the woods, face twisted in a furious snarl. Leaving Kaoru alone. She had her wooden sword out, parrying a blow from the man with the crowbar: she twisted her wrist and the crowbar flew out of his hand. A step forward, and she'd slammed the hilt into his gut. He doubled over, coughing.

Yahiko launched himself at the nearest smuggler, yanking his own bamboo sword off his back. His opponent laughed; then Yahiko slammed the practice blade down on his shoulder and the man's laughter turned into a furious snarl as he clutched his stunned arm. The leader had stepped back: the other two men had joined the one fighting Kaoru. She was surrounded…

"Kenshin!" Kaoru cried, shock in her voice. And suddenly there was a whirlwind in the middle of the melee, red hair whipping in the lamplight and men flying backwards as Kenshin cleared a safe place for Kaoru to stand. Yahiko had a startled moment to wonder where Kenshin had come from – what he was doing here, when he wasn't supposed to leave the dojo without Kaoru's permission – and then the man fighting Yahiko started towards the two of them. Yahiko rapped him hard on the knee.

"You're fighting me!" he cried, but his voice cracked as he remembered the taste of Kihei's blood on his tongue. And that moment of hesitation was one moment too long, as the smuggler grabbed his collar and backhanded him. Light exploded on the side of his face, like fireworks.

"Goddamn _brat_," he sneered, and hurled Yahiko away. Yahiko landed hard, vision greying at the edges as the air slammed out of his lungs. He struggled to his feet with one eye already bruising shut. Somehow there was a rock in his hand.

"Don't you _fucking_ walk away from me!" he screamed, black fury twisting up his insides. Because everything was wrong – because Kaoru was wrapped up in bad business with evil men and Sano wasn't protecting her and neither of them were talking to him and _nothing made sense anymore_, and no wonder they weren't taking him seriously when he couldn't get even a single fighting man to consider him a threat – when the only people he could fight were _cowards_ –

He threw the stone. It slammed hard into the back of the man's head and he whirled, advancing with a grim look in his eyes. Yahiko backed up, holding his sword out in front him.

The smuggler looked past him for a second. He smiled.

"Stupid kid," he said, almost kindly, and shoved. Yahiko slid his foot out behind him to catch himself but there was no ground – _no ground!_ – and his stomach lurched as he fell backwards and kept falling, over the edge of the cliff. The world slowed. He saw Kaoru's eyes widen, heard her scream his name – saw Sano suddenly throw the man he was fighting bodily into the other smugglers and race for the edge, saw the crack-fire of the guns going off in painstaking detail –

_Too late_, he had time to think, and then he hit the water.

* * *

Yahiko fell.

Time stopped.

Kaoru screamed.

He disappeared over the edge of the cliff and time started up again. Kaoru raced for the edge, just a step behind Sano, but they were both outpaced by Kenshin – _how can a human move that fast?_ she thought, in the terrified space between heartbeats – as he blurred past them and dove, narrowing himself to a needle's point.

She almost followed him over. Sano caught her around the waist and hauled her backs, ignoring the meaty thud as her heel slammed into his shin.

"The rocks, missy! It's a goddamned miracle if _they_ missed them!"

Kaoru looked again, choking on her aching heart, and saw the jagged, devouring teeth waiting below. She couldn't see Yahiko or Kenshin – couldn't see anything but that terrible stone mangle and the white spray at the wave-tips of the black, surging sea.

"…no," she whimpered, the fight draining from her bones. "Please, please no…"

Sano put her down and she knelt at the cliff's edge, clutching the soil as if she could hold back erosion with her own two hands – as if she could will the inevitable to be otherwise. She heard him cleaning up their little skirmish behind her, cracking the last few heads and ripping cloth to tie them to one another. She didn't know what he planned to do with them and she didn't care, either. Every molecule of her being was straining to see clearly in the faint starlight, searching for some human sign in the glittering waves.

There. Was that seaweed or – no, it was Kenshin's head breaking the surface, the quick flash of his face as he gasped for air and dove back under. She held her breath with him until her limbs shook and spots bloomed in her eyes like roses – Kanryu's roses – beautiful, monstrous things –

He surfaced again, and this time she saw Yahiko's head tucked under his arm. She didn't stop to watching him swim to shore.

She _ran_, heart ramming in her chest, her throat, pulsing through her limbs like a bloody, terrified drum. Branches tore and snatched at her hair and clothes as she plunged heedless off the path and scrambled down the cliffside, pebbles tearing through her skin. She made it to the beach at the same time they did, stumbling a little as she hit flat ground, and used the tripping momentum to catapult herself to where Kenshin had collapsed halfway out of the breakers, cradling Yahiko in his arms. The sea surged up behind him, covering him to his waist with every wave. It left greedy fingers as it pulled away, as though it yearned to coax them both back in.

"Yahiko!"

Kaoru fell to her knees beside them, taking Yahiko gently from Kenshin's arms. Kenshin coughed, spitting up a handful of seawater: a trickle ran down his chin as he pulled himself up to kneel beside her.

"Yahiko – no, no – c'mon, you little jerk, _please_ – "

Her student was pale and cold and unresponsive. She pressed her ear to his chest, his mouth, hoping for a heartbeat or the whisper of breath but there wasn't _anything_ –

"Get back, missy." Sano was there, suddenly – he must have followed her down – pushing her carefully away and kneeling next to Yahiko. He turned Yahiko on his side and pressed on him stomach, stabilizing him with one wide hand against his back. Yahiko was so _small_, next to Sano – underfed and scrawny and the most precious thing in the world –

And _coughing!_ Yahiko hacked and spat. Half of Edo Bay was retching out of his mouth but he was _breathing_ again –

Tears stung her eyes.

"C'mon, kid," Sano said, in a too-easy tone. "That's it. Even a baby knows how to breathe, right?"

By way of an answer, Yahiko vomited up some more water and sucked in a long, steady breath. Kaoru wrapped him in a tight hug, and he wheezed, flailing at her shoulders.

"You _scared me to death_ – "

Sano pulled her back. He took off his coat and let it fall on Yahiko, covering his head momentarily in white cloth.

"Easy, missy. Let him breathe for a while. He'll be alright, now that the water's out."

"He's alright? Really?" She clutched at her collar, eyes hot with salt spray and her overflowing tears. Kenshin stirred beside her and she turned to face him, bracing herself against the pebbled shore with one shaking arm.

"Kenshin…"

His throat worked; he lowered his eyes and stared at his hands, clenched hard on top of his thighs. Bracing himself for something – as if he expected…

A startled _oh!_ slid from her lips before she could stop it. He'd _disobeyed_ – he'd left the dojo when he was never supposed to leave without her permission, and he'd gone after Yahiko when he was supposed to stay by _her_ side and guard _her_ –

Kenshin started to flinch at her exclamation; before he could finish collapsing in on himself she threw her arms around him, too overwhelmed to think of the consequences.

"Thank you," she cried into his shoulder. "Thank you, thank you, _thank_ you…"

He fell back on his hands, stiffening: she smelled saltwater on his skin and something else, something woody and sweet. Clean earth and cedar… he was harder than she'd expected, all ropy muscle and tense control and _freezing_ cold from his swim, and before she quite realized what she was doing she squeezed him tight, wanting to make him warm. Damp seeped from his clothing to hers and she realized, suddenly, exactly how close they were.

"You're soaking wet – " she said, pulling abruptly away, " – your skin's like ice. Here." Pulling off her coat helped cover her own awkwardness: she wrapped it around his shoulders, careful not to touch his bare skin. "Put this on, you'll catch your death."

Kenshin straightened himself, one hand creeping up to clutch her jacket closed. His eyes were wide, unblinking, and she had to look away as a blush crept unbidden over her face.

"I should get you both home," she said quietly. "Sano, can you carry Yahiko?"

"_No_." Yahiko's voice was cracked and raw, and he glared up at her from where he'd nestled into Sano's coat with black rage in his eyes. Kaoru's stomach lurched. "I ain't going."

"What? Yahiko. Don't be ridiculous, you're freezing, you need to warm up and rest – " Trivial concerns, but she was trying to head him off – because she knew what he wanted to know and also that she couldn't_ tell _him –

"I ain't _goin'_," he took a deep, ragged breath, "until you explain t'me what you were doin' makin' deals with _weapon smugglers!_"

"That ain't somethin' you need to know, kid," Sano intoned, one hand coming to rest heavily on Yahiko's shoulder. "Trust me."

"Why the hell should I?" Yahiko would have been shouting, except that his voice was too strained to manage it. He coughed, sucking air into his lungs. "You don't fucking trust me! So why the hell should I trust you?"

"Yahiko…" Kaoru reached towards him and he batted her hand away, glaring.

"Don't treat me like I'm a little kid!" His voice cracked again, and not from exhaustion, "Whatever's goin' on, I got a right to know! It's my home, too – "

He blinked hard, eyes glistening briefly, and Kaoru thought her heart would break.

"Yes. But – this isn't something – I can't tell you, Yahiko. It's too dangerous. You shouldn't have followed us here in the first place and – and you need to forget what you just saw." Nausea built low in her abdomen, a terrible feeling like running downhill and knowing that you're going too fast to stop.

"_Why?_" He made an abortive gesture, as though he had wanted to slam his hand down on something and realized almost too late that there was nothing there. "What's so goddamn _important?_ I'm not – you think I can't handle it?" He was breathing hard now, quick gasps that meant he was fighting back tears, and he rubbed furiously at his nose. "You think I'm too stupid t'help or know the truth or – "

"I think you're a ten year old boy," she said, and remembered her father. She was speaking his words, now, and it felt like trespassing on sacred ground. "And you're the bravest, strongest, most honorable ten year old boy I know – but you're _ten years old_, and you're my student, and if anything happened to you _I couldn't live with it_, Yahiko!"

She grabbed his shoulders, not quite shaking him, her fingers clamped hard around his arms. He had to _listen,_ and understand – because he shouldn't have been here tonight, because her heart had stopped the moment she'd seen him rush out of the trees and she had _died_ watching him fall over that cliff: died and not come back to life until he'd sucked in that first ragged breath.

"Yes, I _am_ trying to protect you! I'm your _teacher_. That's my job! And I am ordering you, _as your teacher_, to forget everything you saw tonight and never, _ever_ mention it again. And if you can't trust me in this, _then forget that you were ever my student!_"

The words hung in the air like the echo of a temple bell, cold and shattering. Something in Yahiko's eyes – the fierce pride he held so dearly – broke, and tears began to pour down his face. But he wasn't sobbing. He didn't make a sound.

"…Yahiko, I – no, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She pulled him into a hug, cradling his head against her shoulder. He didn't respond.

"I didn't mean it. I wouldn't throw you out, not ever. You're my family, you're – you scared me so _much_, I – I'm sorry. I won't leave you. I won't. Not ever." Her voice was very small.

Kaoru looked helplessly at Sano. There was anger in his eyes, too, the same frightened rage that had beat inside her until she'd let it out. As she watched, it dimmed and died.

"Hey, kid." He reached out, uncertain, and ruffled Yahiko's hair. "You know she didn't mean it. Y'just scared us, that's all. But we're not gonna kick y'out."

Yahiko sobbed – just once – and she heard him whisper _I'm sorry_.

"I know," she said, low and quiet. "I know. So am I."

* * *

Sano stayed behind to deal with the smugglers and take the rifles to their final destination – one of the many storehouses scattered throughout Edo, waiting for word from Kyoto. Kaoru took Yahiko home, and he didn't hold her hand but he walked close and silent beside her, like a shadow. Kenshin walked a few paces behind him, wary as they passed through the old docks and calming as they drew nearer to home and safety. Yahiko had lost his sandals somewhere; he wouldn't let himself be carried and shuffled stubbornly along in his socks until they were almost three-quarters of the way home, and then he stumbled. Kenshin caught the back of his collar and picked him up in one easy gesture. Yahiko didn't protest. Kaoru shot a grateful glance Kenshin's way, and thought she saw his expressionless eyes slide over to meet hers.

Yahiko was almost asleep on his feet by the time they made it home: he ducked clumsily away from her and headed for his room first thing. Kaoru watched him go, helpless.

"Miss Kaoru," Kenshin said quietly, stepping up to her side.

Kaoru sniffed quickly and turned to face him, forcing a calm expression. She couldn't quite manage cheer right now.

"Yes, Kenshin?"

He hesitated for just a heartbeat too long before he spoke.

"…shall this worthless one to prepare some tea?" he said finally, and Kaoru wondered what he had tried and failed to tell her. That she'd been too hard? Spoken stupid, evil words that could never be taken back?

She already knew that.

"That sounds fine, Kenshin," she said, voice wavering. "Some barley tea, please. Not green."

He bowed, moving off towards the kitchen, and she was left alone in the dim circle of light cast by the stone lanterns flanking the door. She took a moment to breathe, forcing air to flow past the rawness in her throat and draw the tears away from her eyes.

Then she went inside. Yahiko's door was closed, but his lantern was lit. She knocked softly.

"Yahiko?" she called. There was a shuffling sound, as though he was pulling on clothing or rolling out of bed.

"You don't have to open the door," she said quickly. "I just – I wanted to say I'm sorry. Again. I – I would never – " A quick, deep breath. "Even if you decided that you didn't want to study the Kamiya Kasshin anymore, you'd still have a home here. This will _always_ be your home. Always. No matter what."

She could hear the cracks in her voice and hoped that he did, too: hoped that he could hear the truth in it.

Another soft scuffle and the door slid open. Yahiko knelt on the other side, dressed for sleeping, and his eyes were softly red and slightly bloodshot.

"Can you just – ?" and he took his own deep breath. "Can you just tell me – what you and Sano are doing – it's not _bad_, right? You're not wrapped up in anything – really _wrong_. Are you?"

"No." He looked so small, backlit by the paper lantern, but fire was starting to rekindle in his eyes and Kaoru allowed herself a moment of hope that she hadn't wounded him beyond healing.

"No," she said again, softly. "It's illegal, and dangerous, but – it's not wrong. It's probably the most _right _thing I've ever done."

She knew, as she said it, that'd she'd given everything away. Yahiko was smart enough to realize, if not the whole truth, then enough of it to put him in danger. But – she didn't see any other way. Not after what she'd said to him.

Yahiko considered this for a while, worrying at his lower lip. Then he nodded.

"Okay," he said. "Just – promise me you won't do anything stupid. _Promise_." There was desperation in his voice.

"I'll be as safe as I can," she said. "I swear to you. By my father's name."

And she thought about telling him more: that he was provided for in her will, and had been since he'd become her student. That even if something _did_ happen to her, he'd have an income and roof over his head. That she would never leave him in the cold, not ever.

But that wasn't the point: the point was that he needed _her_, her and Sano, and she knew how much not being able to help them must be devouring him from the inside. She couldn't let him help, though. Not in this. She was risking too much already.

"I promise," she repeated, and held his gaze with hers. "Nothing bad is going to happen."

After a moment, he nodded.

"Alright," he said, rubbing his neck. "Um. Goodnight, Kaoru."

"Goodnight, Yahiko."

He closed the door. She stayed outside for a few moments, until the lantern dimmed and went out; then she stood and went to the kitchen, hoping that Kenshin had finished making the tea.

* * *

Sano passed by the Oguni clinic on his way back from Katsu's, almost – but not quite – planning to go inside. It was the middle of the night, after all; the clinic was closed, and nevermind the single lamp burning in the foyer. That was for emergencies, and a handful of scrapes and bruises didn't qualify.

He sighed, allowing himself to lean for a moment against the gate. No, there wasn't any reason to bother the fox-lady at this hour: the only real hurts he had weren't anything that he had the right to ask her help with. He'd never meant for Kaoru or Yahiko to get involved in any of this.

And yeah, okay, it had been selfish as _fuck_ for him to try and keep them out of it, keep them unsullied – he'd been doing it for his sake, not theirs. But he'd been trying to protect them, dammit, and didn't that count for something…?

Megumi had a way of pulling the truth out of the mire of bullshit he covered it with. Surgeon's eyes, seeing past malingering and false symptoms to the real disease. He wanted to talk to her – he just didn't have the right. Not when she was carrying so many burdens of her own.

After the war, maybe… maybe once Kanryu was dead and rotting, she'd consent to let him carry a few. And there'd be an after, for both of them. He'd make sure of it.

* * *

Megumi stopped walking when she reached the clinic gate. It was late – too late to be going out. Too late for anything. Even if she found Sagara at this hour, what could she possibly say?

Shinomori had sent to Kyoto and Kyoto had responded. She had her orders and she knew how important they were. Kanryu's latest scheme transcended her worst nightmares; he couldn't be allowed to succeed.

And he wouldn't. She could – she _would_ – stop him. For a price.

But everything had a price, didn't it? For every life, a death: medicine was simply the art of _choosing_. Trading the child's life for the mother's, or the mother's for the child. The man with a festering gut wound eased quickly on his way, so that the man with a mere broken leg might live. No doctor could save every life. Sometimes there was no hope or help, and when those times came you could simply… let go.

She leaned against the gate, and thought for a moment that Sagara was pressing warm against her back.

It would hurt, letting them go. Letting her hard-won hope go, when she had almost allowed herself to believe that she would have an _afterwards._ But – one little future, willingly given, to secure thousands of happy endings.

Fair trade.

* * *

It was late, and Kaoru knew that she should be sleeping. But Yahiko's clothing had been torn in the fight and she wanted to have it mended before morning. She _could_ sew, after all; she was a terrible cook and a mediocre housekeeper but she could at least keep herself and her family looking presentable.

So here she was, stitching away next to her paper lantern. It didn't cast the brightest light, so she had to sit almost on top of it. The needle gleamed with every stitch, trailing yellow thread and pulling the tear closed, bit by painstaking bit. She worked small and slow, hiding the stitches in the weave of the cloth. By the time she was done, with luck, you'd never be able to tell there had been a tear at all.

Kenshin knelt patiently at her side, head drooping. His eyes kept sliding shut and staying closed for longer each time, but he'd refused to leave. He wouldn't sleep until she did, no matter how she insisted – so she really should be getting to bed soon, for his sake. But if she did, she'd only lie awake and stare at the ceiling and he'd _know_ that she wasn't sleeping and stay awake anyway. At least this way she was doing something productive with her time.

Sewing was the one household chore she excelled at. The dojo hadn't been doing well since her father died; she had rather less income than anyone suspected, and her careful mending was one of the reasons she could keep up appearances so well. That, and the bolts of cloth in the storehouse that she used to make new clothing when the old garments became more stitching than cloth. It took time, but she had plenty of that.

Her mother had taught her how to sew. They were some of the clearest memories that Kaoru had of her. Her hands had guided Kaoru's, cool and soft, laughter in her voice as she counseled patience. It was a meditation, she'd explained, like the battle-discipline her father taught her. _Stitch your feelings into the cloth_, she'd said. _Hope, and love, and the desire to protect: put it all into your work, and it will keep your loved ones safe and warm, and guide them home again_.

Kaoru paused, then turned over the hem of the shirt. There was a little green frog embroidered there, a charm for safe return, and she rubbed her thumb gently over it. It was getting a little ragged.

First, the mending. There were only a few stitches left and Kaoru worked them carefully, an unvoiced prayer on her lips. _Make us whole again_. All of them – herself, Sano, Megumi, Yahiko, and Kenshin, too. _Bring us safely home_. Home being some far distant future, when everything was over and the world was new and free. _Keep us safe_. Let the roses grow far away from their door…

She finished and reached for her cup of tea. It was still mostly full, and long since cooled. There was a slight pressure in her skull, a growing headache – from the low light or dehydration, she couldn't be sure which. There was a small tray of riceballs next to the cup, and she remembered that she hadn't eaten since lunch. She still wasn't hungry.

She ate one anyway, without tasting it, and cast about for green thread. Might as well refresh the little frog, while she was here; all its power must surely have been spent to bring Yahiko safely from of the sea.

With a soft sigh, Kenshin toppled gently over – a kind of half-controlled fall – and curled up on the ground next to her, his upper back resting against the side of her thigh, catlike. His hair draped over his neck, the color of autumn leaves and gleaming with gold in the dim lamplight. His eyes were closed, and he tucked his arms tight inside the curve of his body like a child in hiding.

"…Kenshin?"

He made a sleepy sound – just like Ayame or Suzume did when they didn't want to wake up – and curled a little tighter, pressing back against her. He'd never slept in front of her, not since he'd recovered from his injuries. Protocol, Megumi had said when she'd mentioned it. A slave never sleeps in front of their master, in case the master should have need of them…

Kenshin was sleeping now, or dozing at the very least. The lines of his face had softened: he looked so young, without the weight of consciousness.

Carefully, not quite certain _why _she was doing it, Kaoru brushed an errant strand of hair away and tucked it behind his ear. He uncurled a little at her touch – relaxing, not stiffening. Then he stilled, his breath coming deeper and steadier as he sank into true sleep.

Kaoru stroked his hair again, soft as feathers, and a fierce, aching warmth bloomed in her chest. The urge to protect… the bone-deep need to cover him and keep him safe, a desire she had no right to but felt anyway. To fight, not because justice demanded it, but _to keep him safe_ – because he was _hers_, and she would never let anyone harm what was hers. Not ever.

No right. She had no right to feel this way, not when he couldn't choose – not when he had no choice but to stay with her. He wasn't hers, not really. He hadn't asked for this any more than she had, and she needed to remember that. He could never be hers, because he had no self to give freely: Kanryu had taken it from him by force; she had taken it from Kanryu by accident. And now she held it in trust against the day that he was strong enough to take it back.

If she was lucky, he would remember her kindly when that day came.

Kaoru pushed the tears from her eyes and bent to her work.

* * *

Hiko stood before the gates to the Kamiya school, and the vial of perfume in his pocket burned like a brand. He clasped his hand around it, gently, feeling the weight of it. Such a small thing to rest his hopes on, and such a terrible thing to do to a man only half-healed.

But this was the way of things. Cruelty and kindness were all one, viewed from a distance: the ideal of the sword of heaven, to _do what was necessary_. And he was certain that this _was_ necessary. Otherwise he wouldn't be doing it. Rather circular reasoning, specious really, but none of that mattered. He had a role to play in this, this _drama_, and he would play it to the hilt.

The boy hadn't changed, not in his heart. He'd need the push – he wasn't a coward, but he'd always avoided conflict and that was a flaw that ran straight into his heart, a flaw that Hiko had known would destroy him if not cured. _Had_ destroyed him, Hiko suspected. That was why he'd let the little idiot go haring off after the Yukishiro girl in the first place, after all. Because it had been time and past that the boy learned to stand his ground and fight for something, and if the fight was futile then so much the better: two lessons in one.

Sometimes, you _must_ fight.

Sometimes, you can't win.

Yet you fight anyway.

He started forward, then paused. There was no moon tonight, only the faint, cold stars and a low breeze rattling the trees. The little teacher's home felt… as peaceful as any place could be, in a world such as this, hushed and sacred as the unbroken snow, and that shouldn't have mattered but it did.

A few hours one way or the other… what difference did it make?

With a sigh like an ancient lion, Hiko turned away and went looking for a place to wait for sunrise.


	11. it cries out in the darkest night

**A/n: Sorry I'm not sorry.**

* * *

The day dawned clear, and Kaoru was there to greet it. She'd slept a little bit – catnapping over her sewing, mostly. She'd dozed off for an hour or two when the cool air began to lighten just before dawn. It hadn't been a pleasant sleep: she'd dreamed of sticky, salted tendrils dragging her across rocks like crashing waves, and hands the smelled of roses tearing at her clothes. The dream-convulsions of her body as she struggled to escape had jolted her awake right as the edge of the sun glimmered bronzely over the rooftops, and she'd watched it rise with a kind of desperate peace.

Kenshin stirred at her side. He'd slept the whole night through, and his deep, steady breathing had anchored her wilder moments. She'd kept still so as not to disturb him: instead she'd chased madly about the inside of her head, fearful and uncertain. There had been no particular order or sense to the things that she'd thought. Now, in the warming dawn, she could barely even remember them.

"Good morning," she murmured, picking up the needle she'd dropped in her dazed slumber and sliding the bright green thread back through the eye.

"Miss Kaoru." He pushed himself up on his knees with a terrible grace and dropped into a bow. "This worthless one begs your forgiveness."

"It's alright." She stitched briskly at the half-finished frog on the inside of the hem. "You needed the rest."

"This worthless one will prepare breakfast." He accepted her forgiveness without hesitation, and she had the sense that it had become rote – that he apologized, not because he feared reprisal, but because he was compelled to, knowing full well that he would always be forgiven.

She prayed that was the case.

"Go on. I'll be there once I'm done with this."

Kenshin stood and slid out of the room with perfect silence. She'd wondered how he managed to leave her room every morning without waking her, and now she knew. He left no trace of himself, when he chose to.

A few minutes later she smelled fire and saw smoke rising from the kitchen chimney on the other side of the courtyard. A few minutes after that, Kenshin returned. This time he had a tray with a pot of green tea and a cup.

"Kenshin, that's not – " Kaoru started to protest and then snapped her jaw shut around the words. He'd done so much, last night, broken so many rules – he might still be uncertain. Any sign of disapproval now could set him spinning.

"Thank you," she said instead as he knelt and poured her a cup. "That's very kind."

He glanced up at her, not startled, but something warm flickered for a moment in the back of his eyes, stirring like the flash of carp scales in muddy water. Then it was gone.

She sipped her tea while Kenshin cleaned away the tray last night's rice balls, holding the bitter liquid in her mouth and letting it slide slowly down her throat. It didn't ease the dull tension in her head.

"I'm going to let Yahiko sleep in this morning, if he wants to," she said as he started to leave. "He needs to rest, too."

"Yes, Miss Kaoru."

Kenshin nodded once as he slid the door shut, carrying the tray into the hall. Leaving Kaoru alone. She stitched determinedly at the frog – it was almost done, and she wanted to give Yahiko's shirt back to him today, whole and mended. It was important, although she couldn't quite say _why_…

The needle slipped through her skin, piercing it through with a quick stab of pain like a cat's displeasure. Kaoru hissed and sucked on it, shaking out her hand. A single pearly drop of blood flicked onto the shirt and melted into the cloth, spreading and seeping through the fibers. She stared at it. Now the shirt would have to be washed before she could give it back to Yahiko, and bloodstains were _stubborn_, there would always be the faintest marks and why, _why_ could she not do this one, simple thing right – ?

_It's only a little stain_, some distant corner of her mind whispered. Futile, against the rushing tide in her ears and the dry, hot prickle behind her eyes. She clenched her unmarked hand in the fabric of Yahiko's shirt, temples aching, and refused to cry. Not over something this small.

"Miss Kaoru?" Kenshin's voice from the hall. "The morning meal is prepared."

How much time had passed? She forced herself to swallow, imagined pushing it all down her throat into her belly to be digested, and managed to speak with only a slight waver.

"I'll be right out."

* * *

Yahiko hadn't woken up by the time Kaoru was done eating, so she set aside a plate to keep warm for him. Then she sat on the porch, sipping barley tea for the long, slow throbbing in her head, and knew that she should be in the dojo. Her student had earned a morning off; she hadn't. There were things to do – so many things, and more of them every day – and here she was sitting and relaxing in the watery sunlight, as though she had time to spare.

But she couldn't seem to make herself move.

Kenshin emerged from the house with a basket full of clothing, some of it spilling over the edges. He went about setting up the laundry tub with a practiced efficiency, pouring in just enough water from the well and shaving soap with a careful eye. She knew he did the laundry every day that it wasn't raining, because it needed to be done; by the time the morning lesson was over, he'd usually be hanging the clothes out to dry. On rainy days – and there had been so many – he would clean the house in the morning, instead. She knew that he ate lunch, because she made sure that he did, but she wasn't usually home in the afternoon…

What did he do, then, on rainy days when he'd spent the morning cleaning and it didn't clear in time for him to wash their clothing? She'd never thought to ask. The chores were for his benefit more than hers, because Megumi had said that he needed something to do, something of worth so that he knew he was useful. So she never really checked… did he simply wait, then, on those days when he couldn't do some part of his routine?

The vision of him kneeling patiently in the foyer, waiting for her return hit her like cold water. Surely not that – surely he found _something_ to do on those days, something other than shut himself down like an unused toy –

"Kenshin…" she started to say. He looked up, and the question froze in her throat.

"Yes, Miss Kaoru?"

How could she ask without sounding like – like she was _criticizing_, expecting more of him than he'd already given?

"Nevermind," she said quickly. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

Kenshin stared at her for a heartbeat more, wide-eyed, and then dropped his gaze back to the task at hand. Kaoru took a long pull of tea. It landed heavy and leaden in her stomach. She was tired, that was all – very tired. She'd rest before she went out this afternoon. Or maybe take the day off entirely. No one could blame her for that, after last night.

"Miss Kaoru." Kenshin had paused, raising his head to look towards the gate. His hands were clenched tight in the cloth of the towel he was washing. "There is a guest coming."

"Thank you, Kenshin," Kaoru said, and tried to will herself to stand. It took too long: long enough that Kenshin tilted his head ever-so-slightly, watching her like a puzzled bird.

Then he got smoothly to his feet and walked to the porch. He paused for a moment in front of her – she realized, abruptly, that he was standing _over_ her, as he was always careful never to do. They were nearly of a height, and it wasn't hard for him to round his shoulders and give the impression of smallness. But with him standing on the ground and her kneeling on the veranda, there was no way he couldn't tower over her.

His throat worked subtly, and then he offered her his arm. Kaoru blinked. Then she remembered – her hesitation outside Kanryu's manor, her fear of the Western home crouching like a monster to devour her. He'd offered his arm, then, to guide her – because he'd been trained to, in those situations, but this was different so why _now _– she didn't know, anymore, what was truly him and what was Kanryu's lingering touch. And he still had no words to tell her.

Heat behind her eyes. She blinked it back and managed to stand without stumbling, resting her fingers lightly on Kenshin's forearm.

"It's alright," she murmured. "Go back to the laundry. I'm not expecting anyone," she added, not quite sure why. But it seemed to reassure him; his shoulders relaxed a little and he stepped away with a lingering bow.

She knew it was Mr. Hiko at the gate before she opened it. Even reigned in and damped down, the sheer force of his presence was unmistakable. He'd stopped by the Oguni clinic shortly before her meeting with Kanryu to say that he would be traveling and expected to return shortly. No one had heard from him since. She hadn't known whether or not to believe him, at the time, but it seemed he'd kept his word.

"Good morning, Mr. Hiko," she said, bowing in greeting. "What an unexpected visit."

"There wasn't time to send ahead," he rumbled. "Things seem well enough." There was the faint trace of a question in his voice, and she wondered if he didn't want to know about Kanryu, about what had happened during the tea that never was.

If he wasn't going to ask directly, she wasn't going to bother telling him. It was too raw and intimate a thing to offer up casually: the smile that was almost a leer and the too-bright sunlight beating down on the muddy hell hidden under the stench of roses.

"It's been rather quiet," she lied. Because that, too – the salt fear on her tongue as the two people she was most bound to protect disappeared beneath the waves, and all that had followed – was none of his concern. "How was your journey?"

"Productive." Finally, he returned her bow with a slight incline of his head. "May I come in?"

"Of course," she said blandly. "Do you mind sitting on the porch? It's such a lovely morning, I was having tea there."

"No." His eyes glinted with something like amusement. Let him be amused. This script was an easy one, ingrained in her since childhood, and she was too tired to press him for answers.

_Beauty is a woman's armor, and courtesy her weapon_. Kenshin's teacher wasn't her enemy, but neither was he her friend. He'd said, on the bridge, that he'd come to discover the truth, and she believed him. What she didn't know was what he planned to do after that.

Mr. Hiko's eyes flicked over to Kenshin crouching at the laundry tub as they walked to the courtyard, but he didn't say anything. Kenshin stilled for half a moment before continuing in his task as if nothing had changed. Kaoru stepped up out of her shoes and on to the porch, while Mr. Hiko merely sat on the edge.

"Just a moment," she said, voice unnaturally bright between her bared, smiling teeth. "I'll fetch another cup from the kitchen."

When she came back he was playing with something small and glittering, passing it restlessly from one hand to the other. She knelt on the porch, on the other side of the tray from where he sat, and poured out another cup. He didn't touch it.

She felt, vaguely, that she should ask what he was so busy toying with, but she couldn't seem to make herself care. Which should have frightened her; on some level, it did. She was just so _tired_…

Sleep, that's all she needed. She'd take a nap this afternoon.

"I went back to the village," he said abruptly. "Where the Yukishiro family lives."

"Oh?" Kaoru sipped her tea, too tired to try and stop her heart from racing. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"In a sense." And then he made to hand the glittering thing to her. She put out her hand reflexively and it dropped into her palm, slightly warm from his handling. A corked vial, with full with some kind of clear liquid.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure." He watched Kenshin, eyes dark. "Maybe nothing at all."

Kaoru held the vial up to the light, tilting it one way and then the other to watch the liquid swirl from side to side.

"It looks like water," she said dubiously. "Should I open it?"

He stilled for a moment, as though she'd said something unexpected. Then he snorted.

"No," he murmured, almost to himself. "It's not your responsibility… give it here, girl."

She hesitated before handing it over, struck with the sudden feeling of the tide receding before a wave.

"…what do you mean?" The vial was queerly heavy in her hand. He took it away from her, without waiting for her to give it to him.

"You'll see in a moment," he rumbled. "If there's anything to see."

Then he pulled out the stopper. A wave of scent drifted from the small bottle, too potent to have come from such a little thing. Yet there it was: crisp and floral and calming. And _white_ – though how a perfume could be colored, Kaoru couldn't say. Except that it was: white and cool and gently sensual, easing through her senses to curl soothingly around the wild pacing thing in the back of her mind that wouldn't let her rest…

The wet _slap_ of cloth falling into water. Kenshin gave a soft, animal cry, and there was more pain in that strangled sound than he had ever expressed: pain enough to rip a man in two. Kaoru whipped around to face him.

"Kenshin…"

He was frozen in place, blank eyes fixed on some unknown point past the horizon. There was nothing in his eyes, not even the dull animal fear of his earliest days with her and time slowed with her horror as she watched Mr. Hiko slowly, deliberately, waft the scent towards him. Kenshin moaned and lost his balance, barely catching himself on his forearms as he collapsed.

"Stop!" It ripped from her throat, guttural and aching. "_Stop it!_"

She didn't give Mr. Hiko time to react before she stood and slapped at the hateful glass thing clutched so-delicately in his massive hands. He dodged out of her way, standing, and she launched herself wildly after him, no thought in her head except that Kenshin was _hurting_ and it need to _stop_ –

"Don't interfere!" he snapped, holding the vial out of her reach: easy to do, with his height. Kaoru twisted her hand in the cloth of his sleeve, pulling down to no avail.

"_Stop it!_" she cried, her other fist pounding uselessly against his arm. "Stop, you're hurting him – "

Kenshin was shaking, barely holding himself up, the tip of his long ponytail dragging in the dirt. A wounded sob escaped her and she rushed to his side, forgetting everything else in her urge to shelter him. He wound his fingers in her skirts as she knelt next to him, almost resting his head on her lap.

"You're _hurting_ him," she repeated, pleading. Mr. Hiko's face was cool as carved stone, except stone had more character and feeling. "Stop. _Please_."

How a scent could have that power, she didn't know – all she knew was that Kenshin was curled tight as she'd ever seen him, hot and shaking like he'd been after Kanryu – after Kanryu had taken them into that low stone building and opened the door to hell, made Kenshin _remember_ –

Her hands, spread over Kenshin's back, tightened.

"How dare you." She didn't recognize her own voice: it was cold and thin and sharper than any blade. "How _dare_ you. You have _no right – _"

Her head snapped up to glare at Mr. Hiko. He didn't recoil – not that she'd expected him to – but his eyebrows arched in surprise. Fury pounded in her veins like a temple drum and something was _whipping_ in her soul, lashing and clawing at the earth with fangs that ached for blood –

"You were trying to bring his memories back." Her voice was soft as snow. "You – that scent – you thought it would make him remember, before he was ready. Without even _asking_ – you have _no right!_"

"And you do?" he shot back. But he stoppered the vial. "I am his _teacher_, girl; who can make the decision, if not I?"

"You lost that right ten years ago!" Kaoru cried. Kenshin flinched in her arms. "When you let _this_ happen to him!"

She saw the words hit home, saw his eyes widen and his hand twitch towards his sword hilt and she hated herself, a little, for hurting him: for tearing at a wound she knew was already raw and bleeding. But he had come into her house and hurt someone she cared for and he had no right, _no right_ to do such a thing. Whatever his reasons.

"Do you claim the right, then, in my place?" he asked, low and dangerous. "Forgive me. I should have asked the _mistress'_ permission before I interfered with her property." His words were bitten-off, deliberate, and she shuddered but did not break their locked gaze.

"He is under my protection." Her voice matched his, clipped and careful despite the bile rising in her throat. "You haven't been here, the past two months. You haven't seen him in ten years! You have _no idea_ what's happened to him, what it's been like. You're expecting too much!"

"And you expect too little!" he thundered back. "He is stronger than you know, Kamiya – he has endured this much, and he can endure a little more if it will win him back his soul – " Mr. Hiko paused, then, and his silence was the greening sky before the hurricane. His eyes narrowed.

"…or would you prefer otherwise?" he asked softly, deadly as poison smoke. "How much have you lost, this past year? Your father, his students, what little prestige and honor this school possessed – that's quite a lot for one young girl to endure. At least he," he nodded towards Kenshin, huddled on the ground, "can never leave you, not in the state he's in…"

Something in her heart shattered. Shards of it flung themselves through her veins, racing to numb her extremities and her skin tingled with shame. Because hadn't she thought the same thing, or near enough? That Kenshin was _hers_ – that she would protect him, not because it was right, but because he _belonged_ to her the way Yahiko and her father's school did, because she had taken him in and come to care for him and she would _not_ let him be stolen from her –

"Get out." Kaoru found herself on her feet without knowing how, nails digging into her thighs where she gripped her skirts, almost tearing through them. "_Get out!_"

Mr. Hiko's face was a shade paler then it had been, she observed from somewhere under her shrieking rage. He took a step back, and there was shift in his stance, almost conciliatory. She didn't care.

"_Leave my house!_" Just let him try to stay – let him challenge her _here_, on her home turf, where she had been born and raised; let him just _try_, after accusing her of such an evil – _(oh but can you call the accusation false, little girl?)_ something small and vile whispered inside her heart.

"Get out." Her voice was cracking, broken, barely a whisper. He stared at her for a long moment.

Then he left, and took the vial with him. Kaoru sank slowly to her knees, wrapping her shaking arms unconsciously around her torso. Kenshin was frozen; she was frozen, too, colder than she'd ever been, and she knew that she should move to comfort him. Except she couldn't.

_At least he can never leave you_ rang hollow in her mind. A sob fought its way free of her lungs, and her teeth were too slow to catch and hold it. The hot pressure behind her eyes – the pressure that had been building all night, and all morning – was too much, now, and tears slid in a steady trickle down her face. She wept silently, after that first sob, as she had never done; wept and fought to stop weeping, because there was no time for selfish tears.

She could feel Kenshin watching her as she pulled air in and held it for heartbeats before breathing out again, grabbing at the frayed strands of her control. It would be so easy to tip over; there was so much coiled inside her belly like a venomous snake. Except that she couldn't, she mustn't, she wouldn't. She had _chosen_ this, after all.

Her fists were still tangled in her skirts, her palms protected from her nails only by the layers of cotton and silk between them. The laundry lay in its wooden tub, half-done and forgotten, growing heavier and heavier as the water seeped in. How much could it absorb? Was there an upper limit or would it simply suck the water in forever, fibers growing fatter and fatter until the cloth dissolved?

Her chest ached.

There was a warm pressure against her arm and she glanced down despite herself, feeling as she moved as though her body was not her own. Kenshin was curling against her side, again, head tucking into the small space under her arm. Too small: it was either let go of her skirts with that hand or leave him nowhere to rest his head. She let go, and he shifted in a way that brought his hair under her hand. He settled into the caress, catlike.

His hands tangled in her skirts. One of them was very near her own, close enough that his littlest finger brushed against her thumb. Carefully, uncertain, his fingers began to move in a kind of slow rhythm. Not gripping – almost soothing, as if he was stroking the cloth. She mirrored him, half a beat behind, petting her free hand through his hair. He seemed to grow more certain when she did, although his rhythm never changed.

He shifted again and relaxed fully against her, and she didn't know what this meant – this strange sort of reaching-out, his fingers moving in a steady pattern against the top of her thigh. But it anchored her: the touch of his hand, his warm weight at her side, the silk of his hair under her fingers. The flood drained away, withdrawing slowly back to whatever hollow chamber it had come from.

Not gone. Only delayed. But that was enough, for now.

They stayed that way until she heard Yahiko banging about in his room: then she untangled herself from Kenshin and stood. He straightened up, watching her with bright, focused eyes.

"It's alright," she told him. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine. I'm – well, I suppose I should go to the Maekawa's today. It's not good to skip training…"

The mask fit smoothly over her face again and she smiled, brightly. "That gives you some time to work on the garden, doesn't it? I really do think it's a good idea," she added. "I wasn't just saying that. Tell me if you need anything for it, okay?"

"Yes, Miss Kaoru," Kenshin ducked his head obediently as he plunged his hands back into the neglected laundry. Kaoru watched him for a moment, then went to check on Yahiko.

She didn't look behind her, so she didn't see Kenshin raise his head and look at the gate his teacher had left through, eyes dark with worry and something stranger.

* * *

The sun had slit her throat and fallen below the horizon, leaving only a faint smear of blood along the rooftops. In the east, the stars were coming out. Their song was a faint, shameful thing against the rich glow of the sleepless city, muffled by the smoke and stench of too many lives huddled together, praying for protection from the storm. Not like the mountains – the air was clear, there, and even unworthy men could hear the starsong ringing.

And Hiko knew that there were no worthy men.

Least of all himself, right now. There was no excuse for what he'd done, finding the crack in the girl's soul and tearing it wide open. She had no malice in her, and she was not to blame for this – for his helplessness, for his failure. But she had rubbed his nose in it, dared to throw it in his face, that if not for his own shortsightedness Kenshin might have –

Hiko wrapped his hand around his lower jaw, trying not to grind his teeth. The grass was cool where he sat on the hilltop, under the greening leaves of the cherry tree. There were no blossoms, not anymore. The season had come late and left quickly, ushered away by windstorms and driving rain.

Yes. _If not for him_ – for his foolishness, for his pride. _Don't hide from it, idiot_, he could hear his own master saying across the years. _Don't add cowardice to the list of your sins._

All she had done was try, in her halting way, to fix _his_ mess. Taken responsibility for _his_ apprentice. Done what _he_ should have done, ten years ago, when he'd gotten word that the boy had fallen in with Kanryu and his band of serpents.

Hiko did not sigh. He stared, impassive, out across the sea of houses and bridges and the thin silver canals that wound through the city like wires in an old puppet, holding the wretched mess together for just one last dance.

Kamiya was not to blame. And neither, it had transpired, was the village girl from so long ago. Tomoe. She was a victim, too – victims, all of them, and what was the purpose of the sword of heaven if not to defend those who suffered in every era? He had been taught that, once, before the talk of balance and necessity. He'd made the argument in front of his master as Kenshin had in front of him – what good is any of this, if we never use it? So he'd sent the boy off to learn the hard way, as his master had sent him, and thought no more of it.

Hiko wondered, now, for the first time, what he had really learned when his master had set him to the same test. He'd failed then, too. Which had been the lesson: sometimes, there is no success. Some things cannot be fought. _We do not seek to move the mountain_, his master had told him, staring down his hawksbeak nose. _We only protect those who live on it from those dangers they did not bring on themselves_.

Wracked with guilt, he hadn't questioned it. And the morning had brought a new set of lessons, harder ones, more tests of strength and endurance that beat away his remaining weaknesses and ended only when he'd won his master's name. He'd planned to do the same to Kenshin, leaving only that last lesson ringing in his ears, unexplained. That was the way of things. Who was he to question it?

Only the master of the Hiten Mitsurugi. Wielder of the sword of heaven.

For all the good it did him.

He'd thought… he'd thought to let the style die with him. Let the world balance itself, as it had done before. This new age of steel and steam and clockwork had no time for legends. Better that the style should pass from the world pure, untouched, and become myth. He'd not sought an apprentice, nor made his existence known. So why had he chosen Kenshin, all those years ago? What had he seen in the boy that made him think _yes, this one, this one is worthy of my death?_

Nothing, really. Except, perhaps, the boy himself: the fierce focus in his strange eyes, and the broken blisters on his hands, smeared with blood and pus. Hiko had spent a good hour that first night picking out splinters as the lad winced and refused to cry. His name had still been Shinta, then, although Hiko hadn't bothered using it. The first time he'd called the boy by name was to steal his birth-name from him: to take his great heart and give him a sword-heart in its place.

Who might Shinta have grown to be, if Kenshin hadn't taken his place?

And who might Kenshin have become, if Kanryu's manslayer hadn't subsumed him?

Kanryu, too, had taken Kenshin's name.

There was a difference, he knew, between himself and Kanryu. And yet…

Hiko shook his head, letting his hand fall to his side and dangle in the folds of his cloak. The air was too still.

He'd spent the day wandering aimlessly around the city, the glass vial burning in his pocket, thinking that he should go back and force the issue and finding himself unwilling to.

_You have no right!_

No. Not, perhaps, to fix what he had allowed to be broken – but he was not completely without rights in this.

_If you assist me in this matter, Takeda Kanryu will be dead before the year is out._

Kenshin's fate was out of his hands. That was cold truth: there was no spell or potion that could change what was. The girl had taken up what he'd let fall, in his pride, and earned the right to make the choices that his apprentice no longer could. But Kanryu… was another matter. The sword of heaven had neglected its duties, of late. And that – _that_ could end. Would end. Now.

Hiko braced one hand against the damp grass and froze at the spark of sword-spirit that curled to life behind him. Not even a spark – an ember, a pale shadow of the former flame. But he knew it. He'd spent five years nurturing it.

Kenshin slid carefully into view from the other side of the hill, eyes downcast and shielded by his red bangs. He stood like a startled deer, ready for flight; except instead of bolting his throat worked, once, and he knelt slowly on the ground. Not collapsing into a bow – only sitting.

Hiko said nothing, did nothing, tried not to breathe too deeply. The boy had brought a jug of sake with him.

"The cherry trees are not blooming, sir." He looked up as he said it, and there was something striving behind the blankness in his eyes. "But the stars are out."

"…so they are." How long ago had he tried, in one of his more sentimental moments, to teach the boy how a man drank?

Kenshin's fists clenched and unclenched, convulsively. Hiko waited, thick-throated, and didn't allow himself the luxury of hope.

Finally, Kenshin seemed to give up. He pushed the jug towards Hiko, who caught it neatly.

"Does the girl know you're here, Kenshin?" Hiko asked the question carefully, uncertain what the answer would mean. Kenshin swallowed, and his chest rose and fell as his breathing sped up.

"…no. Sir."

"…I see."

This was Kenshin's choice, then. _Kenshin's_ choice. And Hiko did not allow himself to consider all the implications of that: he was too old for miracles. Instead, he reached carefully into his pocket and took out the vial. It was cool in his palm, too heavy.

Without looking at Kenshin, he set it in the grass to one side and busied himself with the jug. The sake was of passable quality: he poured a draught into the cup he that always carried with him and sampled it absently. The dull ember of Kenshin's spirit faded into the distance, and was gone.

Hiko glanced over, taking a second sip, and saw that the vial was gone, too.

* * *

Even blind or blind-stinking-drunk, Sano always knew when he had left Kaoru's neighborhood behind and entered the row houses. It was the smell, and the change in the ground underfoot. The Kamiya school nestled comfortably among other respectable houses, bound to one another by well tended, hard-packed dirt roads. When the road turned muddy with overflowing gutters, when the clear-cut lines between buildings and houses blurred with the earth that every step tracked in, that meant he'd left her world behind.

And the _smell_. People in Kaoru's neighborhood took care of their trash, dealing with it themselves or paying someone else to take it away. That _someone else_ usually lived here, and carried the stench of it with them when they came home at the end of each long day. No one hauled trash, here; no one could afford to have the scattered garbage cleared away if their neighbor decided just to dump it in the street. As the smell testified.

Not that the folk here weren't decent, in their own way. There were dozens of families here, good people, mixed in with the scum – too poor to paint and too proud to whitewash. It wasn't the worst neighborhood, just damn close. Close enough to keep everyone on their guard and waiting for that axe to fall, terrified of losing what little they had.

Sano wasn't blind, and he wasn't drunk – for a change. It had been almost a year since he'd come back to his tiny room for any reason other than to sleep it off somewhere the little missy wouldn't give him an earful. He kept paying the rent on the place, all five mats of it, because it was handy in a pinch and he liked having his own space, if he needed it. But he _lived_ at Kaoru's; everyone and everything he cared about was there.

Well. Everyone except one person, but he didn't call her Fox for no reason. That one went where she pleased.

And apparently it pleased her to come see him. Sano blinked and stopped in his tracks as he rounded the corner and saw Megumi standing outside his door, swaddled in the light of the setting sun. It curled around her, long pale beams parallel to the ground, and softened her edges until she was mostly shadows.

"Fox?"

"Sagara." She turned, graceful as always, and only the very slight tremor in her voice gave her away. "I – wanted to see you – "

Megumi took a step forward. Her knees gave way, inexplicably – there wasn't anything to trip on – and he caught her without thinking, setting her back on her feet

"What's up?" Normally, she would have pulled away as soon as she was stable again. But she didn't, this time; she stayed close, almost touching, and didn't flinch from his hands resting carefully on her arms. He thought that he should be the one to move, instead. Except that he didn't.

Her face was flushed. Even through the layers of silk she wore like a shroud, he could feel the heat of her skin, and his fingers moved restlessly, unconsciously across her sleeves. Megumi shuddered, eyes hooded, and leaned into him.

"Hey," he said softly, searching her face and seeing neither fear nor pain – only a strange kind of focus in her heated eyes. "Is somethin' wrong?"

"We should talk inside, Sagara." She was close enough, now, that he could smell the sake on her breath. His sense of alarm deepened. This wasn't like her – she rarely drank, and never enough to get noticeably tipsy.

"Alright." Sano let her go and slid open the door. "Ladies first," he said, gesturing as Megumi walked unsteadily past him. Her gait was pitchy, like the ground wouldn't stay still, and she sat heavily on the raised mats without bothering to slide out of her sandals, leaving her feet to cross neatly in the small, shallow cubby just inside the door. Her hands she cupped loosely in her lap, one over the other, and examined them with a fierce concentration as he shut the door and sat against the opposite wall.

"How did last night go?" she asked, as soon as he'd settled.

"Last night?" Sano shrugged, not sure what to say, or how much. "…complicated."

"It was Kamiya's first run." She picked at her cuticles, her long hair draping over her shoulders and hiding her eyes. "Complicated…?"

"Uh." He swallowed. "The kid followed us." And then some. He'd about died of a heart attack when the little brat had pitched over; he didn't blame Kaoru in least for snapping like she had. Bad enough that the deal had gone south when that pig of a smuggler had tried to get Kaoru's favors included in the payment price – the little twerp could have been _killed_, and for what?

"Yahiko?" She sounded almost disinterested. Now he _knew_ something was wrong. That bit of news should have snapped her alert even if she _was_ a few sheets to the wind – she should be on her feet and ripping him to shreds about now. "He must be fine. Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

She said it more to herself then him. Sano stretched his legs as much as he could without kicking the side of her thigh and tilted his head back, trying not to let his worry show. She'd only shy and bolt…

"Kenshin showed up, too," he said, hoping for some kind of response.

"Did he?" Megumi's hands stilled. "I hadn't thought Kamiya would be that careless."

"She didn't tell him to. 'Parently he did it by himself."

"I see." Was there pain in her voice, or was he imagining things? "Good. That's going well, then. I was right in that, at least…"

More talking to herself, instead of him. Sano pulled one leg up and rested his arm atop it, watching her intently.

"What do you mean?"

"If he's making choices already…" She made an abstract gesture, almost dismissive. "I hadn't thought he'd make it even this far, not really. I'd hoped, though."

There was anguish there, twisting around her black-silk voice like a clinging vine and tearing at the undertones. She was still hiding her face behind her long hair, and she'd settled her hands one over the other like a proper lady, encasing herself in protocol the way – the way she'd done when they'd first met, less than a year ago. When she'd been only Kanryu's meek little near-slave, before he'd known who she was, before she'd let him see the fox-woman she'd kept curled inside her all those years, safe from the worst of it. Of what she'd endured. Whatever that was.

He didn't know everything – didn't _want_ to know. What he did know was already too much.

One, two, three, fourfivesixseven. Rain began to fall soft against the roof, light as rice-grains. Someone shouted for their children to come inside, before they caught cold.

"I'm glad," Megumi continued, swaying a little. "That he'll be looked after. I always – regretted – "

Her voice was thick. Sano glanced up at the ceiling reflexively – the place had a tendency to leak – and saw rainwater gathering just above her.

"Hey, fox, you might wanna come up here." He almost patted the mats beside him, then thought better of it. "It's about t'get real wet where you are."

She started, turning towards him, and he caught a flash of red-rimmed, teary eyes before she lowered her head to hide them. He pointed up.

"The roof leaks."

Something that might have been a laugh or a sob escaped her, and she slid haphazardly out of her sandals, swinging her legs up on to the matting. She tried to stand and stumbled, catching herself before he could. A few shaky steps and then she fell gracelessly to her knees beside him, leaning her shoulder against the same wall as his back.

"Don't you want to know what I regret?" she asked. Her eyes were smoky, gazing up at him through lashes thick with unshed tears. She'd landed half on her hip, her legs unbending out to one side and supporting her weight with one arm; her other hand was draped languorously across her waist. She smoothed the folds of her kimono as he watched her, throat tight, and tried to find an answer.

"I – shit, Fox." Sano blew out a long, complicated breath. "I mean – yeah, if you wanna tell me. I guess."

"You guess." She smirked, turning away, and pushed her hair back from her forehead with a bitter smile. "Of course."

"I mean it's up to you," he tried again. "What you wanna tell me – or not tell me. I don't – I mean it ain't my _business_, 'less you want it to be."

Megumi almost snorted. "Was that the last shipment, then?"

It took him a moment to realize what she was talking about. Her voice was crisp, and if not for the red traces in her eyes he could almost think she was entirely herself again.

"Yeah. Last one for the people we got, anyway. Anything else…" he shrugged. "Surplus, I guess. If this political bullshit's done one good thing, at least we ain't gonna be underequipped."

"There is that." She pulled a few strands of hair away from the thick, shimmering mass over her shoulders and began to braid them, idly. "And they're all safely away?"

"Yep. The usual recipients." The clinic, Katsu's, and a few others. From there they'd spread out through the ranks, until the last few unarmed folk were squared away, and then…

"So it's finished."

"Yeah. Now it's just waiting."

Waiting, waiting and more waiting – as they'd been doing since midsummer last year, when the negotiations fell through. It was a crazy plan, sure, but it stood a decent chance of _working_, was the thing, if only those recalcitrant bastards could see it. It wasn't as if any of _them_ had any decent ideas.

"Not for much longer…" she said, and shook her head when he gave her a quizzical look. "Nevermind. Just – woolgathering."

"Is that all y'wanted to ask me?" Sano sat up a little, holding himself away from the wall. "About the shipment?"

"No." She swiped at her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling. The smell of someone's cook-fire filtered in from outside, woodsy and enticing. "I wanted – "

Megumi shifted to face him and overbalanced with a startled cry, putting her hand out to catch herself on the wall next to his head. Suddenly she was right in front of him, her face barely a handspan from his and her lips parted in astonishment. She blinked, wide-eyed. Her breath reeked of sake.

Sano didn't dare to move. Like a woman entranced, Megumi reached out with her other hand and traced the air just above his lips, her fingers shaking.

"My regrets…" she murmured, and kissed him.

Sano swallowed a startled gasp as her lips slanted hard over his and she took advantage of the moment to curl her tongue into his mouth. He couldn't _not_ respond, not when she was pressing herself against him all warm, soft curves and delicate hands tangling in his hair. Strong hands – graceful and steady.

"…Fox…" he breathed when she finally drew away, eyes half-closed and gleaming under her lashes. "What…?"

"Megumi." Her hand stroked down his neck to fist in the cloth of his shirt; the other stayed buried in his hair. "Use my name, Sagara."

He couldn't think, could barely breathe. She stole another kiss from him, deeper this time and trailed smaller kisses down his jaw after they finally surfaced, gasping. At some point in the proceedings he'd worked one hand under her doctor's smock, curling his other arm around her waist and holding her tight against him.

"Megumi – wait – " Her legs were on either side of his hips, holding tight, and she began to rock slowly against him, sending shivers of fire down his spine.

"No," she mumbled around his earlobe. "Unless you want me to stop."

Sano sucked in a shuddering breath and moved his hands up to cup her face, resting his forehead against hers.

"I don't – just – _why?_"

She shifted in his lap, pulling her hips closer to his and curling her hands around his neck, trying to draw him into another kiss. He resisted, barely: every nerve was singing her name and her scent twined around him in a lover's knot. He'd dreamed of this for too long, of her warm and wanting in arms, the two of them moving as one thing.

"Just tell me why," Sano managed to plead. "It ain't that I don't – I dunno if I ever wanted anything so bad just – tell me _why_."

Her eyes darkened. But she didn't draw away. Her fingers traced along his jaw, his collarbone, and he kept his hands very still because if he did what he wanted to do – if he grabbed her hips and pulled her into him, rolled them over to press her to the ground and lost himself in her, in her breasts and hands and long shining hair – he wouldn't _know_. And he needed to.

"'Cause I – " Another deep breath as he tried to stabilize himself, heat rushing to his face. "I don't – we do this, it's gonna be – different."

And he hated himself, a little, for not being able to say it: that he didn't want her if he couldn't have all of her, all her pride and brilliance and every shadow, too. So that when he finally took her there, to that breathless place, she'd _stay_ and let him carry some of the weight on her back – or he could carry her, at least, if the burden wasn't one that could be shared.

She took her own shivering breath, as if she was fighting back tears.

"I just," her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Sano nearly groaned with the urge to bend her back and kiss her breathless. "I want to know. What it's like to – to choose. Just once."

Her head came to rest slowly on his shoulder, her hands grasping his shirt like a lifeline.

"Please. Just once. With someone I – I just want to choose, this one time. I want to know…"

He voice cracked. She was shaking like a leaf; he wrapped his arms around her and stroked at her hair as her back heaved, once, like she was stifling a sob.

"Hey. Hey, now. That's enough a' that…"

Warm wetness on his shoulder and he realized, with a jolt, that she was crying. And Megumi _never_ cried, not matter how bad things got.

"Aw, Fox," he mumbled around the fall of her hair, curving himself around her as if he could keep out the cold. "Megumi. Sorry. Didn't mean to – "

"Don't." Her voice was muffled against his shirt. "Don't. Just show me. Please. Please just – I don't want to be alone, Sagara, not anymore – "

He held her tighter, heart cracking to hear her beg. Shit. _Shit_. He couldn't not – not when she was here, needing something and asking for _him_ to give it and –

"Hey," he murmured, and his hands played gently with the folds of her clothes. "I got a name too, y'know."

A long, fraught pause. Her hands tightened around his shoulders. And then:

"Sano," she breathed. He pulled a little away and she tilted her head up, tears still glimmering in the corners of her eyes. Sano mustered a shadow of a grin and bent his head to hers, kissing them away.

"'Sall right," he said, smoothing one hand down her back. She was small; he forgot how slender she was, with all space her spirit took. "C'mere."

He kissed her properly, then, easing her down and rolling over so that his back would bear the brunt of the hard matting. She shuddered against him, crying out – small moans and gasps, and he liked the sound of them so much that he brought them out by the dozens, with lips and hands and fingers, before he thought of his own pleasure.

Megumi clutched at his back when she let him inside, biting her lower lip. He soothed his thumb across it and kissed her deep and slow, waiting for her to relax around him.

"No regrets?" he asked, unable to keep the worry from his eyes.

"No," she murmured, resting her fingers on his lips, and twined her legs around his. "No regrets at all."

So he slid a hand under her hip and brought her to the peak again, one last time before he let himself follow her over.

They lay together, afterwards, tangled in their clothing and each other's arms. The rain beat down overhead, muffling the sound of Sano's neighbors. He thought, vaguely, that he should have done this somewhere else – that she deserved better than this hovel, where the most you could do for privacy was pretend not to hear your neighbors. She stirred against his side, as though she could hear him.

"You cold?" he asked.

"…no." She burrowed deeper into his arms and he laughed softly, brushing the hair from her eyes.

"Well, I am. Lemme get a blanket."

"No." She squirmed closer, like she was trying to crawl into his skin. "Don't go."

"Ain't goin' anywhere." He pressed his lips to her temple, running one hand down the long curves of her body. "Not without comin' back. Promise you that."

The room was small enough, and he was lanky enough, that he managed to grab a blanket from the haphazard pile he kept his bedding in without actually getting up. He draped it over them, laying back down and pulling her close against him. She sighed in his arms, and he kissed the top of her head. This was how it should be: her safe in his arms, warm and satisfied.

"You just get some rest, Megumi," he murmured, fingers brushing slow across her neck. "I'll still be here in the mornin'."

He was on the very edge of sleep, falling fast: that was the only reason he missed the quick hitch in her breathing, and the hot tear that leaked across her cheek.


End file.
